Flashfire (14 page)

Lorenzo disengaged the alarm—which apparently hadn’t noticed this intruder—unlocked the door and opened it with somewhat less than his usual smooth style.

“What the fuck do you want?” he demanded by way of greeting. He flung himself into the car, took a deep breath, then glared at his unwelcome companion.

A stranger.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed
Pyr
smiled serenely at Lorenzo. “The darkfire crystal,” he said and Lorenzo’s heart sank.

The reckoning had come.

He’d feared it would, but had hoped otherwise.

There was a glitter in this dragon’s eyes, though, a glitter that belied his easygoing manner.

Despite his apparent serenity, this
Pyr
understood force.

And persuasion. He put out his hand, as if expecting Lorenzo to surrender the crystal immediately.

As if he carried it around all the time.

As if he still had it.

While Lorenzo respected that his guest didn’t beat around the bush, he still couldn’t give him what he wanted. He was terrified at what this stranger might demand in exchange.

This did nothing to improve his mood. He went with an aggressive tone. It couldn’t hurt, and he had been known to intimidate some of his kind. “I don’t have it.”

“Of course you do. You have been its custodian for centuries.”

“Well, it’s gone.” Lorenzo started the engine. “I can’t help you. Get out of the car.”

His companion didn’t move. He merely blinked at Lorenzo. “Gone where?”

“I don’t know.” When his companion said nothing, Lorenzo gave voice to the most plausible theory. “Someone must have stolen it.”

“Your lair doesn’t have locks and alarms?”

“My
car
has locks and alarms, but that apparently didn’t stop you.”

The other
Pyr
smiled fleetingly at that. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“This is not a cocktail party. I’m sorry the gem is gone, but I don’t know where it is and I’m late.”

“Marcus Maximus,” the other
Pyr
continued as if Lorenzo hadn’t spoken. “They call me Marco.” He shrugged. “They used to call me the Sleeper.”

Lorenzo recognized the title with a pang. This was not good news. The Sleeper was the one
Pyr
who had a legitimate claim to the darkfire crystal, as the heir to the Cantor. He didn’t just have a rightful claim, but potentially some of the Cantor’s powers.

He’d have to bluff.

“You’re wasting your breath and my time,” Lorenzo said. “I don’t have what you want and even if I did, I know it’s too precious to just hand over to the first
Pyr
who asks for it.”

Marco frowned. “Am I really only the first?”

Lorenzo pinched the bridge of his nose and wished heartily that at least one of his fellows could take a hint. “Get out of my car.”

“I could prove my claim to it, if you showed it to me. The darkfire trapped within it will respond to my presence.”

That was the test Lorenzo had been taught, but with the crystal vanished, it didn’t much matter. It was imperative that he ensure this Marco never demanded the flashfire song—maybe he didn’t even know about it. Lorenzo could hope.

And terminate the exchange as quickly as possible.

“I told you. It’s gone. I’m sorry. That’s that.”

“No.” Marco looked out the window. “I’ll ride to your lair with you and check.”

Lorenzo’s temper—and his terror—flared. “My word should suffice. I am not going to permit you to search my lair. . . .”

“I won’t have to,” Marco said mildly. “I’ll be able to feel whether it’s there or not.”

“If that were true, you would have known already that I don’t have it.”

“I did.” Marco smiled, unsurprised. “But it could have been an illusion.”

Lorenzo exhaled, practically ready to breathe fire and smoke. “Fine. You’ll come to my lair; then you’ll get out of my car and leave me alone.”

Marco’s smile didn’t falter. “If I don’t sense the crystal, yes.”

It was the best offer Lorenzo was likely to get. He put the car into gear and shot out of the parking lot.

The sooner he was home, the sooner he could get rid of this particular
Pyr
. In an ideal universe, he would have been happy to keep his promise and surrender the stone to its rightful keeper.

Lorenzo was increasingly aware that he did not live in an ideal universe.

What could Salvatore have done with the crystal?

He drove fast, really fast, but Marco didn’t seem troubled by the speed. The other
Pyr
looked out the window, his expression serene.

Lorenzo was not serene. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever having been so riled up. Two
Pyr
and two
Slayers
had poked into his life in less than twelve hours. It defied probability. How many more of them were going to show up to waste his time?

What could he do to stop them?

Why hadn’t he disappeared sooner?

And what about Cassie? What about her future? Letting her leave him was precisely what Lorenzo had wanted to happen, but now it felt wrong. Lorenzo took the curve into the driveway hard and fast, disliking the sense that he was making a mistake.

A big mistake.

“
Diavolo
,” Marco murmured softly and Lorenzo nearly drove off the road.

Chapter 7

T
horolf decided he liked Bangkok.

The city’s hustle, bustle, and color reminded him of the market cities he’d known centuries ago, places where you could buy or sell pretty much anything.

For the moment, he stuck to beer and shooters.

And eye candy.

Thorolf didn’t realize that he offered a kind of eye candy himself. Well over six feet tall with dark blond dreadlocks, several tattoos, and the raw muscle of a dragon shape shifter, Thorolf was unlikely to blend into the wallpaper in any city. He did better at being overlooked in Manhattan than in Bangkok—at least he had until he’d been filmed shifting shape in DC during another
Pyr
’s firestorm.

When that video had appeared on YouTube, Erik had hit the proverbial roof. Thorolf had decided to make himself scarce for a while. Bangkok seemed like a good choice, if only because he had never been there and he had heard that it was a good place to party.

Thorolf pretty much lived to party.

He sat at the end of a bar in a disreputable part of town and watched the action in the street. It was late, but far from dark where he sat, given all the sparkling lights and neon signs. He listened to the hawkers and smelled the street food and watched the parade of people looking for someplace to party.

It was hot, the smell of the jungle underlying everything. His T-shirt was stuck to his back and he could taste sweat on his upper lip. The skin of the women surrounding him glistened in a way that he liked.

The beer was cold. He didn’t understand much of what the bartender said to him, but the shooter had been recommended with sign language. Thorolf didn’t know what it was and didn’t much care—it had a kick like lightning. That worked for him.

This bar was noisy and crowded, which was why he had chosen it. The music was loud, familiar, and its beat had him tapping his toe. The women were gorgeous, independent of their prices.

Thorolf was in his element.

This was his kind of place.

Even though he was theoretically hunting the
Slayer
Chen, Thorolf wasn’t in a hurry to get started on that quest for vengeance. He wasn’t sure exactly where to start anyway. Chen was in Asia somewhere. That didn’t exactly narrow things down. And Chen had made it clear he didn’t want to be found.

Each beer made hunting Chen sound more like work. Each shooter made Thorolf more convinced to just hang out for a while. He’d told his friend Rox for years that he was allergic to work, and in this place, he could believe it himself.

Thorolf ordered another round. He decided he’d begin with the vacation part and get to the quest bit later.

That was when he noticed her.

How could he
not
have noticed her? A slim woman with ivory skin and red hair was sitting at the opposite end of the bar. She ordered a glass of wine, so she must have just arrived.

Thorolf listened to her voice over the din of the bar, glad of his keen senses. He liked that she had a husky voice. That was sexy. Her hair was cut really short, but she was so pretty that it just emphasized her femininity. The dangling silver earrings and eyeliner didn’t hurt either.

She had curves in all the right places.

Thorolf straightened a bit, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. Her gaze danced over the occupants of the bar, then landed on him.

He smiled.

She looked.

She smiled.

He looked.

And when her glass of wine came, she lifted it toward Thorolf in a silent toast. She smiled a little bit more before she sipped.

Definitely his kind of place.

Thorolf echoed her salute with his beer. He was thinking of sauntering over there, but she glanced away, speaking to the guy who was sitting beside her. That guy laughed at whatever she said—it wasn’t in English—and then she laughed, too.

But she smiled at Thorolf again as she sipped. Her eyes half closed, showing off her long lashes. The gesture made her features look exotic.

Oh yeah.

Her gaze slid away coyly, then back to Thorolf, as if she hoped she’d catch a look at him while his gaze was averted. Thorolf was perfectly willing to be checked out. He stood, flexed his muscles, and lifted his beer, peering over the crowd as if he were expecting a friend.

He felt her watching him. He smiled, knowing that he was premium goods himself.

The night, in fact, was showing unexpected promise.

When he sat down again—apparently resigned that his friend was delayed—he glanced her way once more. What he saw had him on his feet once again.

A guy was behind her, like a shadow against the night. There was something furtive about the guy, who had his hood pulled over his head and tugged over his forehead. It was way too hot for such a thick sweatshirt, never mind a hood.

The woman was oblivious to the guy’s presence, just nodding to the music. The guy eased closer. He looked left and right. He reached.

Thorolf knew instantly what was happening. He saw the flap of the woman’s bag move and shouted.

“Hey!” he roared, his call lost in the music.

Sure enough, the guy flitted away, something in his hand.

“Thief!” Thorolf bellowed and lunged out into the street after him. He knocked over three chairs but kept on going.

It was a lanky kid, dressed all in black, and he was fast.

Thorolf was right behind the kid, fury giving him speed.

He would have loved to shift shape, but he knew Erik would be angry if he revealed his dragon form. Instead, he used his dragon senses to ensure he didn’t lose the thief.

The kid ducked through stalls and Thorolf followed.

The kid slipped down dark alleys and Thorolf followed.

The kid leapt over a fence, raced through a tiny yard, and catapulted into the street beyond. Thorolf followed.

The kid also knew the streets in the area, which was like a rabbit warren to Thorolf. Thorolf realized that the thief was trying to make his way to the left. He guessed that the kid had a partner, and wanted to drop the goods.

Thorolf ensured that the kid couldn’t turn left. He drove him steadily to the right, heading off every attempt to veer left.

He heard the kid start to panic. His breath hitched and his heart was thundering.

Good. He’d make a mistake if he was freaked. Thorolf stayed close.

The kid jumped to a roof, scrabbling for a grip on the corrugated metal before hauling himself up.

Thorolf followed.

The kid leapt to the next roof, Thorolf hot on his heels. They raced across a series of roofs, each slanted in a different direction, some metal, some wood, some plastic.

Then suddenly the kid skidded to a halt, arms windmilling to keep himself from falling forward.

There was a gap ahead and Thorolf smelled water.

A canal.

Nowhere to jump.

Oops.

Thorolf stopped to stalk his prey more quietly. He wasn’t entirely sure the kid still had the wallet. He might have to interrogate him.

It was dark here, quiet. Every window was shuttered against the night, despite the heat. Not a safe area, then.

The kid was panting, scanning his surroundings in desperation, his fingers moving on the wallet. So he did have it. Thorolf respected that the kid was still trying to figure out a way to save the situation.

Not stupid, then.

Just desperate. Thorolf noticed now how thin the kid was and how dirty his clothes were. He probably needed the money, and that realization sent a pang through Thorolf.

Been there and done that. In a place not that different from Bangkok. Thorolf could remember being that hungry and that reckless.

He could remember having nothing left to lose.

The kid pivoted, catching his breath when he saw Thorolf still behind him. Thorolf smiled. He took slow steps closer, then extended his hand for the woman’s wallet. The kid’s hood was still up, against all expectation, his face in shadows. The kid looked left and right. He checked out the canal. He watched Thorolf nervously and backed to the lip of the roof.

Thorolf took another step, then let his eyes change to dragon eyes.

The kid gasped.

He flung the wallet at Thorolf. In the same moment, he took a flying leap off the roof.

As if he were diving into a pool, an Olympic contender.

Thorolf snatched the wallet out of the air. He lunged after the kid, peering over the side of the roof. He halfway thought he’d see the kid turn three graceful somersaults in the air, but instead he saw a splash into the dark canal.

The kid sank and Thorolf gripped the edge of the roof in fear. A wallet wasn’t worth dying for.

Unfortunately, Thorolf couldn’t swim, so he’d be of no help.

He was thinking of diving in anyway—how deep could it be?—when the kid suddenly came to the surface again, sputtering. Thorolf watched until he had hold of a fishing boat. He hung there, most of his body still in the water, and struggled to catch his breath. He stared up at Thorolf.

Uncertain.

On impulse, Thorolf pulled out his own wallet. He tugged out an American fifty dollar bill, folded it into a paper airplane, and launched it at the kid. The kid hauled himself out of the water in a hurry to catch it. He clearly hadn’t guessed what it was when he snatched it out of the air—after he unfolded it, he looked up at Thorolf in astonishment.

Thorolf waved, then loped back to the bar.

His
Pyr
sense of smell helped him out big-time, making it reasonably easy to follow their convoluted trail in reverse. Within moments, he was sauntering down the street toward the bar.

The redhead was arguing with the bartender, and she looked shaken. Even though Thorolf still didn’t understand exactly what the bartender was saying, he could guess what the fight was about.

She was unable to pay.

She was trying to explain herself, showing a dexterity with language that Thorolf lacked, although the bartender wasn’t interested in excuses. Thorolf leaned on the bar beside her and she gave him a quick glance.

Then a smile.

Then she turned to argue her case again.

“Lose something?” Thorolf asked, offering her wallet.

“Oh!” Her features lit with relief and she really smiled at him this time. “Thank you!” She quickly opened the wallet and paid her bill, stopping the bartender’s tirade in midsentence.

Then that man eyed Thorolf, a frown creasing his brow. He pointed at the half-empty beer glass and the shooter where Thorolf had been sitting, but before he could complain, Thorolf handed him some cash.

Within moments, Thorolf was sitting with the redhead, fresh drinks in front of both of them.

“Pickpockets,” Thorolf said, feeling quite the man of the world. “There are thousands of them here. You’ve got to be more careful.”

“How did you know?”

“I saw him behind you, knew you didn’t see him.”

“And you chased him. Wow. Most people wouldn’t have bothered. I owe you big-time. Thanks so much.” Her eyes glowed with gratitude and Thorolf noticed they were a wonderful shade of green. Sexy. She smiled again and stuck out her hand. “I’m Viv Jason.”

“Thorolf.” He shook her hand, liking how soft and finely boned it was. Delicate. Feminine. He wanted to pull her closer instead of releasing her hand, find out maybe just how soft those lips were.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. “Thorolf what?”

“Just Thorolf.”

“All right, Just Thorolf, I need some advice, and since you seem to know your way around, you get to advise me.”

“Ask away.” Thorolf treated himself to a long, cool sip of beer.

“Know any good places to stay?”

Viv was still looking at him as if he were a hero, so Thorolf took a chance. He was feeling pretty lucky. He grinned. “How about you stay with me?”

She smiled. She blushed a little.

Then she leaned against him, her voice dropping even lower than its usual husky tone. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

“Me, too.”

When Viv slipped her hand around his neck, the move pressing her breasts right against his side, Thorolf figured his evening couldn’t get a whole lot better.

That was even before she kissed him.

Chandra was soaked to the skin, but she didn’t care.

She thought about the guy who had pursued her, and the way his eyes had changed. She had a pretty good idea not just what he was but who he was.

She thought about the woman she’d been following in the first place, the woman whose aura told a thousand tales.

Dark tales.

Old tales.

Twisted tales.

One of the Liliot, Lilith’s Daughters. Parasites and vermin. Chandra spat, feeling dirty just for thinking of their name.

Chandra had lifted the woman’s wallet to find out what name she was using this time. Upon reflection, though, she didn’t think it was a coincidence that the woman had been in the same place as the dragon shifter.

She fingered the fifty, knew he could have done far worse to her.

Which just meant that she owed him.

Fortunately, a huge guy with tattoos and blond dreadlocks would be reasonably easy to follow in Bangkok.

Chandra went home to change, then slipped back to the vicinity of the bar. The
Pyr
and the witch were still there, laughing together. Neither noticed her in her changed clothes, but she was used to that.

Chandra sank back into the shadows to watch.

She might have to save the dragon from his own mistake—and repay her debt to him—sooner than expected.