Flashfire

by Deborah Cooke

  Erik’s problem was that he was risk-averse.

  While Lorenzo thrived on risk.

  Lorenzo snorted, then spoke aloud. He would not resort to the old-speak of the Pyr. With any luck, sating the firestorm meant that he could forget the most tedious details of his dragon nature. “We had better things to do than chitchat.”

  This time, Lorenzo did a perfect job of knotting the tie.

  “Not all women are like Caterina,” Erik continued in old-speak.

  Lorenzo refused to answer in kind. Erik had found a nerve, though, and Lorenzo fought to hide his reaction. He kept his tone level. “But some are.”

  “But . . .”

  “I don’t believe the stories. Save them for your children.”

  “You’re wrong . . .”

  Lorenzo put on his tuxedo jacket, then straightened the lapels with a tug. He smiled at Erik. “If so, you’ve always been fond of responsibility. You can assume this one.”

  Erik’s eyes flashed.

  Lorenzo swirled his cape over his shoulders and fastened it, well aware of the expectant murmur of the gathering crowd. He picked up his top hat, rapping its brim against his other palm.

  It irked him that he’d had no time to make his usual preparations, to check and double-check, but he’d have to make do.

  “But . . . ,” Erik began to protest.

  “But I have other obligations in this moment,” Lorenzo said. He indicated the door that Erik was blocking. “If you will excuse me, I have a performance to deliver.”

  Erik didn’t move.

  His resistance was infuriating.

  For a moment, Lorenzo let the mask slip. He couldn’t help it. He’d been pushed too far. For one heartbeat, he showed Erik the simmering heat of his anger. He let the fury rise to his eyes and blaze there.

  Just one glare had the leader of the Pyr stepping aside.

  “You are more committed than you realize,” Erik murmured in old-speak as Lorenzo stepped past him. “She has snared you.”

  The words echoed in Lorenzo’s thoughts, mingling with his own, resonating with the clarity of truth.

  No. He would not permit this to be true.

  Lorenzo halted beside Erik and hissed his reply. “You see only what you wish to see,” he said, holding Erik’s gaze.

  Erik smiled, his confidence unshaken. “Caterina . . . ,” he began.

  “. . . did me a favor,” Lorenzo concluded flatly. He felt his nostrils flare, for he had been provoked and his performance had been compromised.

  He had no time for this meddling.

  “I thought a firestorm would bring you back into the fold,” Erik said, and Lorenzo remembered why he’d come. “I can use every talon . . .”

  Lorenzo laughed at the very idea. He wished he would be able to see Erik’s expression on Saturday when Lorenzo completely disappeared from his awareness.

  Erik fell silent. Was he suspicious?

  “Ursula will see you out,” Lorenzo said tersely. “No one is permitted backstage during the show, except my assistants. I ask you to respect that much, at least.” He treated Erik to one last glare, then strode into the wings.

  He knew that Erik did not move. He struggled against his anger at that. He had a performance to deliver. Lorenzo took a deep, steadying breath.

  It didn’t help.

  It was her scent, he decided as he took his place on the stage. He felt surrounded by her scent, as if he had been dipped in it, as if he would never be able to remove it from his skin. It had thrown him off balance in the dressing room, had been strong enough to fill his mind with images of their afternoon interlude, and persuasive enough to tempt him to sample again the pleasure they’d shared. That scent had followed Lorenzo from the dressing room with unexpected strength, as if she would haunt him forevermore.

  No.

  That wasn’t it.

  A shiver slipped over his skin as he realized the truth.

  Lorenzo could smell the woman’s scent because she was back.

  She’d followed him. She’d returned. And Erik’s mood had changed because he had caught a whiff of her arrival. He’d known that she was backstage and he’d deliberately steered the conversation, ensuring that the woman would hear that she had been beguiled.

  Lorenzo had condemned himself with his own words.

  The trickster had been tricked.

  Lorenzo pivoted from his mark on the stage and glared into the wings. He caught a glimpse of Erik’s confident smile, that old dragon more than happy to see Lorenzo’s game compromised by the firestorm.

  Erik hadn’t left, as instructed, which was audacious enough, never mind that the woman was backstage as well. Every principle that Lorenzo held dear was compromised.

  And he would be the one to pay the price.

  Rage rolled through Lorenzo. Erik had no idea what was at stake. He was playing with fire, all for the sake of the cursed firestorm and his precious Pyr team.

  Lorenzo would not let chance ruin his plans.

  He couldn’t see the woman, although he looked for her. He could certainly recognize her scent. His body betrayed him then, the pervasive power of her presence making his imagination run riot. There were so many things they hadn’t yet done, so many possibilities yet to explore. They could part sweetly.

  After another interval in the dressing room.

  The prospect inflamed him, which was exactly what he didn’t need in this moment when concentration was critical.

  He could have spit sparks at Erik.

  Or at her. He wasn’t truly surprised that she had come back—actually, he was flattered and excited—but he sensed that she was backstage. How had she managed that? Why hadn’t he noticed her arrival? What did she really want from him? Was Erik intent upon telling her the truth?

  That Pyr smiled, serenely content with whatever he had done.

  The curtains rose and parted, and there was no time for such distractions. Lorenzo turned a confident smile on the gathered audience. As he bowed, he said a small silent prayer that he could perform well under pressure.

  With the knowledge that she was watching.

  Probably composing her accusations.

  He simmered. He fumed. He seethed.

  Then he pushed everything out of his mind except his show and went to work.

  Perfection seemed a lofty goal on this night, but Lorenzo was still going to reach for it.

  There was nothing else he could do.

  For the moment.

  Turned out Ursula loved French perfume. Cassie was backstage in no time at all.

  The bottle of Scotch for the burly doorman hadn’t hurt, either.

  The guy with the British accent was watching Lorenzo from the wings, his arms folded across his chest. He wore a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black Blundstone boots. The dark clothes provided a striking contrast to the silver hair at his temples. He had a slim, athletic build, but Cassie couldn’t have guessed his age. Although his posture was casual, Cassie sensed the tension in him.

  And she’d overheard the argument.

  She didn’t want to surprise him, but she had questions too.

  Lots of them.

  “What’s beguiling?” Cassie asked in an undertone as she quietly took a place beside him.

  The stranger didn’t glance her way and he wasn’t startled. She realized that he’d known she was there.

  For how long?

  He answered in a similarly low tone, his gaze locked on Lorenzo. “It’s a kind of hypnosis, one particularly effective on humans.”

  So that was why she’d acted like someone else. She’d been hypnotized by Lorenzo. He’d used a trick to make her fall into bed with him. It explained everything.

  Except how much she’d en
joyed it.

  And how she’d felt as if she’d been set free of her inhibitions.

  And how good she’d felt afterward.

  Now she just felt stupid.

  Like a pawn.

  And that made her angry.

  “Flames in the pupils of his eyes,” she guessed, forcing her voice to remain low.

  The man nodded once.

  “It’s a great illusion.” One that must get him laid all the time. Cassie seethed. “How does he do it?”

  “It’s no illusion,” the man said flatly. “It’s an ability of our kind.” Cassie stared at him, unable to compute his meaning. Our kind? What kind? Was he an illusionist, too?

  The man nodded toward Lorenzo. “He is very good.”

  Cassie didn’t know whether he was talking about Lorenzo’s skill with beguiling or with the current illusion on the stage. She folded her arms across her chest, echoing the man’s posture. She reminded herself to take advantage of this opportunity to gather information.

  Why had this guy even challenged Lorenzo? What would he care about his amorous adventures? She had a feeling that his presence wasn’t common—otherwise, Lorenzo wouldn’t have been so annoyed to find him here.

  How long had this man known of her presence?

  Had the argument been prompted for her benefit?

  Cassie tried to pick the best question. “What’s a firestorm?”

  “You should take that up with Lorenzo.”

  Wrong question.

  “You knew I was listening,” she guessed and was rewarded by a quick sidelong smile.

  Right direction.

  “You tricked him,” she said. “Why?”

  “It was for his own good.”

  This guy’s answers didn’t exactly make things crystal clear.

  “How so?”

  “Lorenzo was being irresponsible. I dislike that.”

  Which didn’t answer the question as to why this man should be entitled to straighten out Lorenzo. Was there a code of ethics among magicians? Cassie couldn’t imagine Lorenzo answering to anyone, but he seemed to answer to this guy. Sort of. There had to be a reason.

  “You’re his boss?”

  The man shook his head. “No.”

  Cassie glanced at the theater and wondered who paid for it, and for the fancy car. “Loan shark?”

  He shook his head again, flicking her an assessing glance. “No.”

  “Big brother?”

  Again there was that mysterious fleeting smile. “Something like that.”

  “I don’t see the resemblance.”

  His smile lingered this time. “Perhaps it’s better that way.”

  Cassie frowned. The stage was in flames now, just as it had been earlier. From this angle, though, she could see that the flames ran in lines, several feet of wood between each one. There were gaps in the stage flooring, gaps with gas burners embedded in them.

  Next question. Cassie couldn’t pick just one.

  Her companion turned away from the stage abruptly, his sleeve brushing against hers as he moved. “If you will excuse me,” he said, polite to a fault. His eyes glittered in a way that made her think of the dragon Lorenzo had become, and his cool smile made her shiver. He looked dangerous and unpredictable.

  Still, she had more questions and he was most likely to provide answers, given present company. Cassie trailed behind him. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

  “Yes.” He had his hand on the door. The burly doorman hovered in the shadows, pretending not to see. “I’ve done what needed to be done. The rest is up to you.” The stranger opened the door, admitting a waft of night air, then turned back to her, eyes gleaming. “Good luck.”

  That sounded ominous.

  Cassie looked back at the stage, just as the house erupted in applause. She glanced at the crowd, then at Lorenzo with the large snake. When she turned back to the stranger, there was no sign of him.

  As if he’d never been.

  He’d wished her luck. Cassie didn’t believe much in luck. She preferred to make her own luck. She preferred to have a plan, to do the footwork and align the variables and see what evolved naturally from her efforts.

  Okay. Time for a plan.

  Her fingers slipped along the edge of the new digital camera in her pocket. She still needed to know whether Lorenzo had a new illusion in turning into a dragon. She still wanted to know how he made those sparks leap between them. She still needed to check out the hot seat and compare the two shows.

  But given his power to seduce her at will and forget her own principles, it would be better to do that from another vantage point. Cassie didn’t want to be found very easily by this dangerously persuasive man.

  Who could hypnotize her into bed with a sizzling glance.

  Even if the prospect of doing it with him again made her tingle.

  She knew from the lethal look Lorenzo cast into the wings that he’d realized she was there.

  Cassie wasn’t a gambler, but she’d have bet every dollar she possessed that Lorenzo was going to want to talk to her, right after the show.

  And she wasn’t ready to talk to him.

  Not yet.

  The show went well enough. It wasn’t perfect, but the flaws would be imperceptible to anyone other than Lorenzo. The fact that he had been less smooth than usual rankled, but it was done and the crowd was happy. He stood before them in his swimsuit and bowed, his sodden prop tux dripping from his hand.

  Where was the woman? Her scent muddled his thoughts. Her presence made his attention stray from the business at hand. What gave her such power over him? Erik was gone, which was a relief, but she was still in the theater.

  No longer backstage.

  Where had she gone?

  He’d overheard their conversation, of course, given his sharp hearing, although Lorenzo would have preferred to have not had the distraction. What would she do with the information Erik had compelled him to reveal?

  More important, what kind of lingerie was she wearing now?

  Was it possible that the firestorm awakened a hunger that took more than one interval to satisfy? Lorenzo was starting to believe that it did. His curiosity about the woman was not a good sign.

  A distraction.

  An obstacle to perfection.

  A problem he still had to resolve.

  It didn’t help that in his mind’s eye, he could see Caterina in that last moment, the truth finally clear in her eyes.

  Diavolo. That’s what she had called him.

  Right before she revealed him. He should never forget it.

  Especially as the woman who had sparked his firestorm hadn’t been surprised that he’d shifted to dragon form. Did she already know his truth? Was that why she’d returned? Lorenzo was keenly aware that a woman had betrayed him before, nearly costing him his life, and that it could happen very easily once again.

  It wasn’t a reassuring thought.

  Cassie didn’t get it. She watched the show from a seat at the edge in the second to last row, the best Ursula had been able to arrange for her. She hunkered down low, hoping Lorenzo wouldn’t see or recognize her. She’d slipped into the seat during a dark phase in the show.

  But she was confused. There were no sparks leaping from Lorenzo’s fingertips.

  Not one. Not during the entire show. That array of sparks that he’d launched at her and toyed with, bouncing it between his hands, was completely missing from this show.

  And apparently there was no hot seat. An attractive brunette sat in the seat Cassie had occupied earlier, practically drooling as she watched Lorenzo, but he didn’t even glance her way.

  Why had the show been different earlier?

  Firestorm. What did that word imply? Did it ha
ve something to do with those flames? Lorenzo had used the word.

  What did it mean?

  The show was impressive, as it had been before, and Lorenzo was every bit as elegant and gorgeous as he had been earlier. She certainly still thought he was a prime specimen. But there was another difference. Cassie didn’t feel that simmering heat beneath her skin. She didn’t yearn and burn with desire. She didn’t want Lorenzo with every fiber of her being.

  Was that because he’d had what he wanted of her?

  She remembered those flames in Lorenzo’s eyes. He’d hypnotized her with them, then seduced her. “Beguiled” was the word the stranger had used, and it certainly described the way she had felt. Enchanted. Dazzled.

  And not, if she were honest with herself, entirely unwilling to surrender.

  But she’d felt that burning desire as soon as the first spark had danced between them, and that had been the moment he’d been revealed on the stage. That had been long before she’d seen the flames in his eyes.

  Way before the dragon bit.

  Was it all about proximity?

  Cassie didn’t think so. There was something else going on.

  She couldn’t help remembering what the stranger had said.

  An ability of our kind.

  What kind?

  Cassie had a bad feeling about that comment. The obvious conclusion—the insane conclusion—was that they were both of the dragon shape shifting kind, of the Pyr that Melissa Smith had profiled on her show.

  The very idea made Cassie squirm.

  But what if Lorenzo had answered her question honestly? He’d said “Right here!” then became a dragon, after all. She nibbled her lip and thought about that weird blue shimmer that had surrounded his body.

  What if that was the truth?

  The idea defied probability. It spat in the eye of logic. It challenged everything she knew to be true in the world. There could not truly be dragon shape shifting men. Cassie knew that, in her heart and in her mind.

  Even if bunches of people did believe in them.

  Even if Melissa Smith had them on her television show.