Fire Kin (14 page)

I felt my objections melting away, my good sense melting away. Gone like ice met with fire. Vanished into steam and heat and the overwhelming desire to know more of the same.

I held out my arms and he set to work, removing the rest of my clothes. There was nothing teasing about him undressing me. There was no time for more tantalizing now.

No, just as I'd known we would, we'd reached the point where it was too much for games.

It had been like this from the start for us. A conflagration of two bodies meeting. Ash touched me and I burned and he answered the fire.

It was like a drug.

An addiction.

If this was what the Nightseekers gained when they drank vampire blood, then I could understand why they chose to give themselves over to it.

Pleasure. His fingers slipped between my legs, slipped inside me, began to move, and I saw stars.

“Ash.”

His hand stilled. I reached for his wrist. “Don't stop.”

He smiled then and his fingers set to work again.

Veil's sacred eyes
.

“I've missed that look,” he said, and he bent to set his mouth to work, helping those long, knowing fingers drive me insane.

He could keep such things up for hours—and he had done so—keeping me on the brink and begging while he played. And while we had the whole night, I was suddenly out of patience for long, drawn-out beginnings. I pushed his head away.

“Problem?”

“Not if you come join me up here.”

“I thought you liked that.”

“I do. But right now I want you. We can play later.”

“Promises, promises.” He was trying to keep his voice light, but I could hear the roughness that had crept into it and the darkness flaring in his eyes. I wasn't the only one who burned. Oh no.

I eased myself back up the bed, until I rested against the pillows, and then I let my legs fall open. Time enough for acrobatics and permutations later. For now I wanted basic. I wanted him inside me, the weight of him bearing me down into the bed so I could feel every inch of him as he moved with me.

It seemed he needed no second invitation.

He came up the bed and over me, pausing only to kiss me fiercely before he set himself against me, and I had one perfect second to glory in the feel of him right there, where I wanted him, before he drove home with a thrust that left no mistake as to where he wanted to be.

He groaned as I arched to meet him, wrapping my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck.

The fire took us then, burned through any last scraps of control. We moved together in a passion more like a battle than anything else. Desperate to get closer, deeper, harder. Trying, it seemed, to crawl inside each other's skin. I felt his power flare around me, felt mine rise to meet it, and then felt the dizzying burst as they melded around us and suddenly it was almost as though I felt what he felt.

Almost.

It was never quite true.

Never quite enough, and that made us even more frantic. As though, if we only tried harder, we might somehow get to that point where we were truly one.

But the only prize to be had was pleasure, it seemed, and it was pleasure that boiled and spiked and drove as we gasped and moved and touched. Pleasure that built and built and built until it was nearly unbearable. And then pleasure that I surrendered to as it crested through me and exploded and left me boneless and separate once more.

ASH

The
rumbling roar shook me awake. I sprang out of bed on instinct, reaching for the gun that wasn't in its usual spot beside my bed. Because it wasn't my bed. It was Bryony's.

Bryony, who had snapped awake as quickly as I.

“What was that?” she said.

“I don't know. Stay there.” I reached the spot where my trousers—and my pistol and belt—lay, grabbed the gun from its holster, and sprinted for the window. Gouts of bright light shot up around the gates of the Brother House. Flames.

Fuck.

“What?” Bryony said as she joined me. I noticed she had a gun too. Good.

“I think Ignatius isn't waiting for us to decide what to do.” I pointed toward the flames.

“He attacked the Brother House? Is he crazy?”

“I don't know. But I need to go.” I felt the fire licking at the edge of my senses, felt the burgeoning heat of it. If I could feel it, I might just be able to control it. It wasn't that far to the Brother House gates. I pushed a burst of power toward the Brother House, feeling the resistance of the iron close around me like taffy, but it didn't stop me. Across the way, the flames sputtered and died.

My hand tightened around the grip of the pistol. It felt strange in my hand. I still wasn't used to the silver alloy bullets the Templars had provided. They changed the weight of the gun. But I would adjust. I'd hoped to have more time to practice before actually fighting one of the Beasts the bullets were designed for. But I might have just run out of time.

Speaking of fights, I was doing no good standing where I was. “I have to go,” I said. “You should look to the wards here.”

She nodded, put her gun down, and started to snatch pieces of clothing up from the floor, shoving the ones that belonged to me in my direction. The chain at her neck sparked red and purple in the dark room. Angry. Good. Angry was better than scared.

I pulled on my clothes and boots, wishing desperately that we had more time. Time to talk about what had happened here tonight between us, time to see if it would happen again, but it seemed the few hours we'd stolen were all that we would get for now.

“I have to go,” I said again, and left after stealing one more quick kiss.

•   •   •

I bolted back down the stairs, taking the route Bryony had brought me. It was stupid, perhaps, to go outside rather than look for the tunnels that connected the Brother House and the hospital, but there was no time to waste. Shouts and cries and the snap of flames—apparently I hadn't completely doused the fire—carried through the night air. The cathedral bell started to toll an urgent warning. What I couldn't hear was anything that sounded like a fight. No clashing metal. Definitely no gunfire. Was this just a diversion, the real action happening elsewhere? Or was this a first strike . . . a declaration of intent by the Blood?

Pistol in hand, I ran on and almost had my head taken off by the Templar guarding the gate in the wall separating the hospital and the Brother House. My reflexes saved me, sending me ducking just low enough to dodge the sweeping blow of his sword.

“Stand down, idiot,” I yelled, with no time for politeness. “It's Captain Pellar.”

The Templar, to his credit, stopped himself almost instantaneously mid–second thrust. “Sorry, sir.”

“What happened?” I demanded as I passed through the gate.

“Someone set a fire at the main gate.”

“Any sign of an attack to follow that up?”

“Not yet,” he said grimly. So I wasn't the only one wondering what this meant.

“Don't let anyone else through this gate you don't know personally,” I said. “If the healers come, send them back. Tell them we don't need them. Better yet, if there's a way to get word to them without using any of your men, do that now.” If there'd been no attack, there were no patients and the healers were safer at St. Giles, behind its wards.

“A patrol is already on its way to St. Giles to guard the front entrance,” the man said.

“Good.”

I continued on my way, running toward the remnants of the fire. It was trying to regain a hold, sparking as the heat sought for fuel. I funneled more power to it, sending the heat deep into the earth where it was safely kept away from anything flammable.

Or usually. Once I had accidentally directed a spike of heat straight down into an underground armory. Which had been half-full of barrels of gunpowder. Luckily, I had done it from a distance and it hadn't cost me anything other than considerable embarrassment and reparations to the man who'd hired us.

I'd been fortunate enough not to kill anyone. So I'd learned to scan ahead of my power now. And I didn't blow things up unless I intended to.

Tonight, the urge to do just that burned in my gut.

I wasn't one of the Templars, but I was feeling distinctly territorial about the City right at this moment.

If Ignatius Grey wanted it, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Another group of Templars loomed up in my path, but they recognized me before they drew their weapons.

“Is anyone hurt?” I asked. Quickly followed by “Where's Sir Guy?”

One of the men pointed toward the gate.

Sure enough, I could see Guy's blond head in the crowd of Templars near the gate, his face set as he barked a series of orders.

The gate itself was twisted on its hinges, hanging open. Which was an effective nullification of the protection its iron and other metals offered from the Night World. But it wasn't on fire, so that was something.

When Guy's stream of orders finished, he stood, hands on hips, and glared at the gate. One hand swiped smoky sweat from his face as he turned back to look at the nearest Templar.

“Send for a metalmage,” he said sharply. “This needs to be repaired tonight. And where are the damned horses?”

Horses? “Going somewhere?” I asked as I reached his side.

He looked at me. “Lily says she can smell Beast Kind. We're going to see if we can catch a wolf or two. Find out what they were hoping to achieve with this—” He gestured at the gate in frustration. “She went scouting ahead.”

“What if that's exactly what they want? To draw you out?”

“Then they'll be happy until they find out that Templars don't play nicely with people who break their things,” Guy said.

I shrugged, accepting this logic. “Can I come?”

He grinned then, the expression somewhat feral in his smoke-smeared face. “Of course. I assume you had something to do with the fire dying out so quickly.”

I shrugged again.

“They wouldn't have been expecting that. Let's hope they think the spell or whatever they used to set it off was a bit of a misfire. It would be handy to keep your ability quiet a bit longer.”

“Any Fae who was around before I was sent away will know that I'm good with fire,” I said.

“I'm hoping there aren't too many Fae talking to Ignatius,” Guy said.

“Me too.” I studied the gate. “But two attacks using explosions in one day is a nasty coincidence.”

The cross on the back of Guy's hand flexed as he rubbed his jaw. “I thought so too.” He didn't seem to like the idea much, but there was a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones before we could say anything further and a few of the novice knights arrived, leading strings of horses.

“You mind riding a different horse?” Guy said. “We can send for yours. . . .”

I shook my head. “Let's not waste time. As long as these beasts of yours will carry someone not covered in chain mail.”

Guy grinned. “It will be a nice change for them.” He jerked his chin at a big rangy bay. “Take Alfie over there. He's well behaved. The novice will tell you some of the signals we use.” He turned and walked over to another of the novices who was wrestling to keep an enormous gray stallion—or so I assumed from his size—from tap-dancing on the cobbles. He settled when Guy reached for the reins, ears twitching as he let Guy mount. The huge horse and the massive knight were an intimidating sight.

The Beast Kind might be in for a bad time.

I smiled at the thought, listened to the novice's quick explanation of how to make my horse rear or kick, and then swung into the saddle and took up position on Guy's right-hand side.

We didn't wait long. A charm tied to Guy's collar—one I hadn't noticed before—flared into bright life.

“Lily,” he said. “She's found something.”

He sent the gray forward and I followed his lead. We cantered through the deserted streets, which really shouldn't have been so deserted. The City I remembered had bustled at all hours of the night, even in the quieter human boroughs. But now, it seemed, the sensible folks stayed home after sunset.

And what exactly did that make me?

Definitely not sensible.

The horses ran easily, obviously used to the slippery cobblestones and the twisting streets. Alfie wasn't quite so smooth and responsive to my hand as Aric, but he had power and speed and that was all I could ask for.

Guy led the way down another narrow street—we were closing in on the border to the Night World now—and the tiny light at his collar flared brighter.

Ahead, I thought I saw figures disappearing around a corner.

I hoped they were our quarry.

We picked up the pace. Guy sent half the patrol on an alternative route, to try to cut off their path. I wondered if we would cross the border if we reached it before we caught up with them, but it didn't come to that. We turned another corner and suddenly found ourselves face-to-face with four giant, snarling wolves.

Guy's horse reared and struck with a shriek of equine fury, which was closely followed by the sound of a sword slicing through the air.

I tightened my grip on the reins and drew the sword that the novice had hastily stuck in the sheath on the saddle. Guy was closing with one of the wolves, and the other three were snarling and twisting amongst us. I spotted the nearest one and swung as it bolted past.

Missed.

Fuck.

The wolf snarled over its shoulder and I kicked Alfie into action and gave chase. The wolf flattened its ears and sped up, heading away from its pack mates toward the far end of the alley. Unfortunately for it, the rest of the patrol were blocking the exit.

It turned so fast I would have sworn it had twisted in its own skin and headed back the way it had come. Straight for me.

Shit.

The wolf was half the size of my horse and its teeth were huge in the gaping mouth as it closed the distance between us. Two could play at that game, I decided, and spurred Alfie forward.

A true Templar horse, he obeyed, and the wolf, realizing what was happening, suddenly crouched and sprang. I reined Alfie to the side and swung my sword.

This time there was a satisfying meaty thunk as it connected and a yelping shrill snarl from the wolf. But it hit the ground and bounced back up, turning to face me, crouching to spring again.

Hard to kill, Beast Kind. The sword in my hand was Templar steel, the ache of the iron making my arm feel heavy even though my hand was well protected by the leather wrapped around the hilt. It was a good weapon, but in this particular situation, my own sword, with its silver and Fae alloys, would be a lot more effective.

The Beast sprang again and we did another round of twist and slash and parry, but this time the blow I landed was only a glancing one.

The wolf had better aim. Alfie squealed as the claws raked his withers and I cursed the lack of my sword again. And then I remembered my pistol.

Silver bullets and all. Maybe there was more skill and glory in sword fighting, but sometimes guns were better.

I dropped the reins, praying that Alfie's training was similar to Aric's, tossed my sword into my left hand, and yanked the pistol out of its holster with my right. As the wolf turned for its next pass, I took aim and shot it through the back leg. It collapsed with a howl of agony, writhing on the cobbles as the silver, now lodged somewhere deep within its flesh, burned.

After a glance around to see where the other wolves were—and they all seemed well occupied by the Templars—I climbed down off Alfie and clubbed the wolf over the head with the pommel of my sword. It went limp and I added a ward around it that would hopefully keep it still if it did regain consciousness sooner than was convenient. I assumed Guy wanted the Beasts alive for questioning rather than dead.

The bullet wouldn't kill the wolf, though he would have a hell of a limp for life if it wasn't removed soon. It would take a larger wound or a hit to a more vital part of its anatomy for one bullet to kill, and I'd been trying to avoid doing just that.

Lacking anything to tie it up with and aware that the others were still fighting behind me, I sprang back into the saddle and headed back toward the fray.

One wolf lay on the cobbles with a sizable hole in its chest. There would be no questioning him. The huge furred chest was still, the yellowish eyes gone blank.