Kiss of Fire (2 page)

He was the Smith.

His talisman was struck.

Let them try to stop his firestorm.

Ann Arbor
The following July

S
ara was tired and hungry and hot by the time she left the New Age bookstore that had been her aunt Magda's pride and joy. It was late and it wasn't the first time she'd thought that taking over the business might not have been such a good idea.

That wasn't just because the stock was weird.

She'd made a lot of changes in six months and it was only natural that she'd remember the good bits of her past life when her present life challenged her. She yawned as she locked the door of the shop, tucking her reading choice for the night under her arm. She felt the emptiness of Nickels Arcade behind her and reminded herself that she'd left the big city behind.

Sara glanced down the silent pedestrian passageway and wished that she had her aunt's psychic gene.

Some things didn't change—she still walked as briskly as a city girl. She was still organized and efficient, still an ace accountant, still had a plan of attack for every obstacle in her path.

Including Magda's records, which seemed to have been kept in Sanskrit.

Sara would conquer them, one line item at a time.

She got only halfway to the State Street exit before something fell to the sidewalk behind her. It rattled, then rolled, the sound of metal on stone echoing in the arcade.

Sara had a bad feeling, but she looked over her shoulder anyway.

Whatever had fallen glittered. It was right on the threshold of her shop, and it hadn't been there a minute before. It was small and round and it winked, as if calling her back to pick it up.

As if.

Sara spun to continue and stopped cold.

A man stood in the exit. He was right in the middle of the center arch, the streetlights behind turning him into a menacing silhouette. He hadn't been there before and Sara guessed the coin had been thrown to distract her.

“I do love predictable women,” he said, and laughed. It wasn't a friendly laugh. He pulled a balaclava over his face before stepping out of the shadows.

Sara quickly considered her options. There was an exit at the other end of the arcade. It was darker on Maynard Street and less busy, but given the alternative, Sara could live with that.

She pivoted and ran.

She heard the man coming after her. His steps were longer than hers; she heard him gain on her with every step, and her heart thundered with fear. She remembered every track meet she'd ever competed in and pushed herself to go faster.

This was a race that she had to win.

Sara ran as if her life depended on it. Quite possibly it did. With every step, she was more certain she was going to make Maynard. She was half a dozen steps from the doors. She was reaching for the handle…she brushed it with her fingertips….

He seized her shoulder, hauling her to a stop.

Sara screamed.

The man flung her against the display window of the last shop with terrifying force. She fell against the glass and wished it had broken. The alarm might have summoned help. She came up fighting, swinging her book at her assailant's head while she had the chance.

She missed, but only because he ducked.

He snarled and caught her wrist in his hand. He twisted it quickly behind her back and the book fell from her grasp. He slammed Sara's chest against the window so hard that it vibrated. It
still
didn't break. Sara clenched her teeth in pain. She blinked back tears, realizing that he didn't care whether he hurt her.

Bad news there.

Sara wasn't going to whimper, even if she was terrified. She opened her eyes to find dozens of empty ring boxes displayed in the jeweler's window in front of her. The reflection of her attacker's silhouette loomed over her, dark and menacing.

She wished he weren't wearing the balaclava. She wanted to give the police a good description.

Assuming she got out of this alive. She didn't need Magda's tarot cards to have a very bad feeling about her own future.

“I don't have much cash,” Sara said, surprised to hear herself sound so calm and collected. “But you can have what there is.” She held out her purse with her free hand.

He seized it without releasing her. Sara had a heartbeat to hope before he flung her purse across the arcade. Its contents scattered noisily.

“Money isn't what I want,” he whispered. Sara saw the flash of his teeth as his hands closed around her throat from behind. “I hope you've said your prayers, Sara.”

He knew her name.
Sara had time to be stunned before he squeezed.

Then she couldn't take a breath. She panicked as his fingers tightened relentlessly around her neck.

He was going to kill her, right there.

Sara struggled. She scratched and bit and tore at his hands, but his grip didn't waver.

She let herself shiver and go limp, hoping he'd think she was weakening. He chuckled just a little, but it was enough to show that he had let down his guard.

With her last bit of energy, Sara drove her heel up hard, aiming for his crotch. At the very least, she might cramp his style.

She missed.

She saw his fist coming in time to duck. He still caught her shoulder, the force sending her tumbling to the pavement. He was stronger—or angrier—than she'd realized. The skin tore on Sara's knees and her dress rose up to her thighs as she tumbled. She tried to roll to her feet, but he landed heavily on her back. He pinned her down with his weight, his knee on the back of her waist, and locked his hands around her throat again.

“Feisty,” he whispered in her ear. Sara shuddered. “I like my women with some fire in them.” He seemed to find this funny. He tightened his grip and Sara immediately felt faint.

She couldn't move because of his weight on her back. She struggled and tried to scream, but only managed a gurgling noise. She fought for her own survival, even knowing the odds were long. Her vision began to get dark around the edges and she fought harder.

She was losing.

Then Sara heard a hiss and saw a flash of light. Maybe this was what dying was like. The bookstore was loaded with books that talked about going toward the light.

Funny, but she'd thought it was supposed to be a white light. This one was orange, like firelight.

Then the weight on her back was gone and Sara was lying alone on the pavement, gulping at air. She felt weak and dizzy. She scrambled away from her attacker, instinctively putting distance between them, then flinched at the crackle of flames.

She looked for the fire and knew that she was hallucinating.

There wasn't a fire in the arcade.

There was a dragon.

Sara blinked and looked again, but it couldn't have been anything else. It was a dragon, just as they were drawn in children's books, but alive. Here. Sara couldn't make sense of what was illogical and impossible. She stared as the fabled beast reared up on his hinds, his leathery wings spanning the width of the arcade. He was silver and blue, gleaming in the night like a jeweled brooch.

But much, much bigger.

He was furious. Sara could tell by the way his tail swung, by the way his eyes glittered, by the smoke coming out of his nostrils.

Sara backed away. Her attacker was lying on the other side of the arcade, as if he'd been snatched up and flung aside. There was a trickle of blood beneath him.

He moved when the dragon exhaled fire and the flames licked his boots. The man leapt to his feet. He took one look at the dragon—as if he couldn't believe his eyes, either—then ran. The dragon leapt in pursuit, sending a furious bellow of fire after him. The floor of the arcade shook with each bound the dragon took and Sara thought that the glass in the shop windows really would break.

Her attacker just ran.

There was smoke in the arcade after his footsteps faded from earshot. Sara swallowed when the dragon turned his attention on her. He moved slowly, deliberately, and she couldn't swallow the lump of terror in her throat. She backed away but found the glass of a shop window behind her.

She wasn't sure her situation had improved.

Sara heard a low growl in the dragon's throat, almost like a purr, and wondered what he had planned for her. She looked left and right, but knew she had no chance of outrunning this creature. She glanced up, thought she saw the silhouettes of other dragons through the glass roof of the arcade, and decided she was losing her mind.

That was the only rational explanation for seeing dragons.

The dragon eased closer, his movements surprisingly graceful for his size. This time he made no noise as he moved, and she could faintly hear traffic in the distance. His scales seemed to be made of metal and gleamed with each step he took. She could see his strength. His eyes were bright and when she looked into their fathomless blue, Sara's heart fluttered. He leaned closer and seemed to smile at what he saw.

Her.

Lunch.

Sara closed her eyes, said a prayer, and feared the worst.

It didn't come.

“Are you all right?” A man's voice persuaded Sara to open her eyes again. It was a wonderful voice, as rich as bittersweet chocolate, low and persuasive and masculine. Maybe she was dreaming.

Maybe she didn't want to wake up.

“Hello?” he said again. Sara opened one eye with caution.

A man crouched beside her, looking concerned. He was a few feet away, as if uncertain whether to approach or touch her.

There was no sign of a dragon, or of a murderer wearing a balaclava. Sara checked.

Twice.

She and the man with the great voice were alone in the arcade. He hadn't been there before, even though Sara was sure she'd closed her eyes only for a heartbeat.

Had she passed out? She tried to swallow and knew she hadn't imagined that the attacker had tried to choke her. Her throat was aching and she'd probably have a major bruise. Trauma could make people lose track of time, couldn't it?

“Where did he go?” she asked, surprised that her voice was so husky.

“The guy with the balaclava?” At her nod, the man indicated the State Street exit. “He took off. Are you all right?”

Maybe she had blacked out and imagined the dragon.

Instead of the more likely case of a passerby intervening.

This passerby.

Sara looked at the man in front of her. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt and laced black boots that might have been military issue. His hair was dark and wavy, his muscled build impressive.

His voice made her want to shiver, but in a good way.

“I think so,” she admitted, and saw the brief flash of his smile.

“Good.” He seemed relieved, which was nice. He was handsome in a rugged way, and Sara decided it would be a bad plan to ask him whether he'd seen any dragons around.

It was bad enough to be wondering about her sanity herself.

He watched her, and the intensity of his gaze made Sara feel all hot and tingly. It was almost as if he were memorizing her features. Or fascinated by her. He was six or seven feet away, but she could see that his eyes were a brilliant blue.

Just like the dragon's had been. Her delusion was starting to make a bit of sense. Kooky sense, but that was better than no sense at all.

Maybe she needed to stop reading the stock in Magda's store.

Sara was keenly aware of the torn flesh on her knee, her loosened ponytail, her slipped bra strap.

Her gender.

As opposed to his gender.

“What happened? Do you know that guy?”

Sara sat up and smoothed her skirt, feeling disheveled. “No. He just jumped me.” Sara's hand rose to her throat. “I think he was trying to kill me.”

“I'm glad he didn't succeed.” He offered her a hand to get up, and Sara couldn't see a reason to decline any offer of help. His hand was warm and she could have sworn that a spark danced between their fingertips.

But that was impossible.

As impossible as a dragon saving her from a thug, then disappearing as if he'd never been. Maybe she needed to get something to eat. She'd worked through dinner, after all.

He stepped away from her, as if sensing her uncertainty. “Why don't you pick up your things? I'll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks.” Sara couldn't understand her strange sense that she was safe. She certainly didn't trust it. She forced herself to think the worst.

She didn't know this guy, either.

They could have been working together.

She folded her arms around herself and tried to sound collected, even if she couldn't look it. “What do you want?”

He smiled, ever so slightly. The smile claimed his lips slowly, as if he had all night to smile, and that slow motion made Sara feel warmer than she had all day.

Which was saying something, given the current heat wave and the unreliability of the air-conditioning unit in the bookstore.