Bound by Flame (5 page)

His hand moved reflexively to his neck. The talisman chain was there, of course, right where it belonged. Yet he did remember changing into his
other,
as Creed and the Sibyls called his and his twin’s demon forms. It was after he took a hit with a spear. Nick rubbed his aching shoulder.

“Elementally locked spear tip,” he said to his silent audience. “We were meeting with my informant when something attacked us. Some
things
. Couldn’t even see the bastards.”

Riana nodded slowly. “Reports from Ireland, Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore, and D.C. all say the same thing. Did you take off your talisman as a last resort?”

“I didn’t—” Nick began, then bit off his own sentence. He didn’t take off that talisman and change into his
other,
his demon form, on purpose. He would never risk something that dangerous without someone to hand the talisman to, someone trustworthy who knew how to use it. And Cynda had been too engaged in the battle to be ready for the handoff.

Problem was, Nick had a good idea who did take off his talisman, and he didn’t want to share that information. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure, figured out what it meant, and decided what to do about it.

“Yeah,” he finished simply, holding Riana’s gaze.

After years undercover in the psychotic Legion cult, Nick could lie without blinking an eye, if the stakes were high enough. He massaged his cramping shoulder and shot his twin a look.

Creed seemed ultrafocused and calm, a new thing, since the whole marrying-the-woman-of-his-dreams gig. That and Creed had subjected himself to some god-awful procedure performed by the crones at Riana’s Sibyl Motherhouse in Russia. Those old bitches had done something that melded Creed’s talisman, a gold ring, into the skin of his chest. Creed could now control his
other
almost as well as Nick had learned to control his through meditation and the mental disciplines of martial arts.

“Good thing Cynda got your chain back on.” Creed held up his hand, let it shift into the glowing, golden ham-fist of his
other,
then back to fully human again, without singeing his shirt at all. “I’d hate to have to punch your lights out.”

“In your dreams.” Seeing Creed do a part-shift made Nick feel a little strange. Before those Russian biddies “transformed” Creed, Nick was the only one who could do tricks like that. Hell, he only burned off his clothes when he changed completely.

“Okay, let’s review,” said Merilee, the air Sibyl, staring at her notebook. Nick had learned that Sibyls preferred paper-and-pencil recording, since it wasn’t prone to electronic malfunction—a common event around those with elemental powers. “From what you’ve said so far, what we’ve been able to get from the communication chimes without Cynda to interpret, and what she told us before she went to rest, the two of you met Max Moses, an informant, in the alley, to gain new information about the Legion’s next move.”

She turned a page. “Cynda observed traces of sulfur dioxide on the clothing of Max Moses, but not the shade typically produced by the single-element, man-made Asmodai demons we’re used to fighting. Then you were attacked by elemental creatures, probably some other type of demon, composed of all the elements, invisible to the naked eye.”

Nick waited for Merilee to mention the floating paint can, and the way something invisible had snatched off his talisman. He dreaded it, but the punch never came.

She didn’t say anything about that.

Was she waiting for him to bring it up? Testing him?

“That’s the size of it,” he said. “Best I remember.”

Merilee looked up. Her blue eyes seemed troubled, but open, not like she was holding something back, or getting ready to pounce. “Meanwhile, similar battles took place up and down the East Coast, and in Ireland. Any fire Sibyl separated from her triad was attacked. Some were even assaulted with their triads present. We lost one Sibyl in New York, nine in the U.S. total, and the Ireland count’s not in yet.”

Nine women like Cynda. And God knows how many in Ireland
. Rage boiled inside Nick, and this time, he growled inside along with Gideon. He’d give anything to be back in that alley.

He should have fired sooner.

He would have fired sooner, if he’d had any idea what was going down.

“What did you find out from your source?” Andy asked. She took notes with paper and pen, too, but not because equipment malfunctioned around her. Because she was cop-trained, through and through, like Nick and Creed. Take notes about everything, thorough notes, and worry about typing it on a computer later.

Nick said, “Max thinks he found a Legion house in the Bronx, toward the north.”

Merilee and Riana visibly flinched at the mention of the area of New York hardest hit by Legion attacks last fall. Asmodai had killed one Sibyl, gotten another put in prison—where she died—and sent the third member of the North Bronx triad back to Motherhouse Ireland, probably forever. A ranger group was currently patrolling the area, but they didn’t know it as well as the shattered triad, or even Riana, Cynda, and Merilee’s group. Now, by the sound of it, the South Bronx triad was broken, too. Not good.

“The place is near Van Cortlandt Park, which fits with the demon activity in that area a few months back.” Nick gestured toward the north section of the city. “I’d have found out more, but my snitch split when the demon action started.”

“You got the address?” Andy yawned but kept scribbling. Tough broad. Nick liked her. He gave her the address.

“I’ll get in touch with Captain Freeman and put eyes on the house,” she said, staring at her notes. “We’ll get intel and specs, then plan a raid for this time next week.”

Riana shook her head. “What if that place is full of these new invisible demons?” She paused, then said the one thing Nick had been hoping she wouldn’t say. “They sound like Astaroths, and we don’t even know what Astaroths can do.”

Creed went rigid on the couch.

Nick felt himself go just as stiff. “There’s no evidence that the invisible things are Astaroth demons,” he countered as calmly as he could.

Liar. Nick, buddy, sometimes you suck.

Creed’s fists doubled, and Nick caught a glimmer of gold around the edges of his brother’s skin as his twin’s control slipped a fraction. “As far as we know, there’s only one Astaroth in New York City,” Creed said. “In the whole world, for that matter.”

Nick nodded, still thinking about how much he sucked. Was he really willing to hold back on these women to protect a brother—a demon—he barely knew? A confused creature, a being Nick didn’t even know how to read or judge or interpret?

But he’s my brother
. He glanced at Creed.
Our brother. He didn’t ask for what happened to him
.

This time last year, Jacob had been a little boy. A terrible blood ritual had aged him mentally, physically, and emotionally to adulthood, and turned him into a supernatural creature with unknown abilities. Only, Nick knew something about the Astaroths. In his time undercover, he had read Legion communiqués on them, and shared what he felt was prudent with the Sibyls.

I have to find Jake, find out if it was him in the alley. Maybe he dumped that paint to help us.
Nick closed his eyes. Opened them. Found himself staring at his twin.
I have to give him a chance. I’d do the same for you, wouldn’t I?

“There’s no real indication that we have more Astaroths on the loose,” Nick said. “This is probably some Legion revision in the creation of Asmodai. But to be safe, let’s get the intel before we move on the Bronx house.”

And give me some time to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

Before anyone else could speak, Nick stood. For a few seconds, he wondered if he might fall, but he managed to shake off the dizziness.

“Here on out, Cynda doesn’t stay alone.” He glanced around the room, searching for any sign of disagreement, and found none.

Riana, however, looked more uncomfortable than usual. She shifted on the edge of the big table, seemed to argue with herself for a second, then come to a decision. “I know this is a lot to ask, Nick, but when Merilee and I aren’t with Cynda, will you see to her safety?”

At the stunned looks from Andy, Merilee, and Creed, Riana added, “He
was
one of them for a time. He knows how the Legion thinks, how it operates better than any of us. Plus, he’s Curson—and stronger for it.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Cynda would scorch anybody else who tried to protect her.”

“Consider it done,” Nick said without hesitation. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

Riana gave him a grateful look, which impressed Nick, since the two of them definitely hadn’t hit it off. Riana had wanted him to submit to experiments into the nature of Curson demons, but Nick had told her—politely at first, then not so politely when she persisted—where to put
that
idea. Since then, there had been a major chill between them. The fact that Riana would stuff her pride and ask him to protect one of the women closest to her heart said a lot. More than anything, it proved Riana would do whatever she had to do to take care of her own.

In that, we find common ground,
Nick thought. Out loud, he said, “I want to see Cynda now.”

“We, uh—we haven’t told her about Nori, the Sibyl who died.” Merilee sounded more than a little worried. “After debriefing, Cynda meditated to heal herself, and she’s been sleeping it off ever since. We were planning to give her the bad news when she woke.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Nick glanced toward the kitchen door. “And the bodyguard thing, too. I’ve got at least a fifty-fifty shot of not spending the next six months in a burn unit.”

This made Merilee laugh. Creed smiled. Andy just shook her head.

Riana got up without speaking and started for the kitchen.

Nick followed her, aware of Merilee, Andy, and Creed trailing after him. He walked behind Riana as quietly as she walked, across the tile floor of the kitchen, through another door, and down a set of stairs to the bedroom Riana usually shared with his twin. New smells reached him as he approached the bottom of the steps. Lavender, like Riana. And, to his surprise, some sweat and leather and woodsy guy odor, too.

Way to go, bro. Invade her domain. Throw your gym shorts in every corner. Conquer the place by inches if you have to, but get the job done.

When Riana opened the bedroom door and moved out of his way, all of Nick’s inner sarcasm vanished. His chest tightened, and he stepped inside the quiet, cavelike space alone. Everyone else stayed in the hall, and he pulled the door closed behind him.

Candles lit the room, reflecting from mirrors on the dressers and walls. In the soft yellow light, he could see Cynda’s long-legged form lying still in the bed, beneath cream-colored satin sheets that were pulled up under her arms, just above her breasts. The sheets outlined her perfect curves, not to mention the swell of those full breasts. Her red hair curled in wisps around her beautiful, sharply defined face and athletic shoulders, and her bright green eyes remained closed. Freckles were scattered across her nose and cheeks and her bare shoulders, too.

The satin covers rose and fell with each steady breath.

Nick realized he wasn’t breathing himself, and instructed his lungs to work. Slowly, steadily, he matched her breathing, relieved to be sharing air with her.

She’s okay.

He heard low conversations begin out in the hall, and felt more private now that the others were distracted. Nick let himself relax, really relax for the first time since he woke in the brownstone. Cynda’s fresh-washed scent of vanilla mixed with cinnamon filled his senses, and he wanted to kiss her. He had wanted to kiss her since the day he met her, but she wasn’t interested in him.

At least, he had assumed she wasn’t, until that moment in the alley.

The way she had looked at him…

Nick ground his teeth and reined in his primal instincts. That was the heat of battle.

He didn’t know how she really felt, did he?

And he wasn’t the kind of man to force himself on any woman, especially a willful powerhouse like this one. If she wanted him, she’d have to come to him in her own time, her own way.

He could be patient.

Even if his body ached for action right now. Part desire. Part relief at seeing her well and whole and healing.

How could I have let her get hurt?

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, didn’t want to give up the sight of her.

Cynda’s eyelids fluttered, and suddenly she was looking at him. Her face and neck were bruised, but already, the dark colors were fading. Sibyls healed so fast.

Damn, he wanted to kiss her worse. He knew, staring at her so fragile and vulnerable and naked under those satin sheets, that he couldn’t wait much longer. Nick felt his skin catch fire when their eyes connected as if Cynda had thrown a wall of elemental power straight at him. Only, she hadn’t. He wasn’t actually burning—for once. It was just how she made him feel.

Those bright green eyes. Alive. Real.

For a moment, he didn’t react. He knew his face was too serious, but he couldn’t change it.

“We kicked some ass,” she mumbled, barely coherent.

The sound of Cynda’s lilting voice jarred Nick out of stasis. “You betcha, baby. Us, ten or twelve. Demons zip.”

She gave him a weak thumbs-up, and a flame danced at the end of her thumbnail. Nick couldn’t help shaking his head at her.

“Those were Astaroths, weren’t they?”

Nick shrugged. He thought about repeating his we-have-no-proof lie, but he couldn’t. Not to Cynda. Instead, he told the truth. “I’m not sure.”

Cynda hesitated, cut her eyes to the door, then looked back at him and said, oh-so-quietly, “I didn’t mention anything about the floating paint can. Yet.”

A connection formed between them in the air, tangible and electric, as Nick tried to manage his shock.

She had kept a secret for him—from her triad sisters. Unthinkable. Unbelievable. But she did it.

She saw how I felt about hurting the Astaroths. Or she guessed something when I didn’t want to shoot them in the alley.