The leopard twisted, knocking Eddie on his side. Lyssa grabbed her tail, yanking the beast away from him — and barely jumped back in time to keep from being cut across the throat. Instead of pressing the attack, the Cruor Venator turned again on Eddie.
She’s going to kill him first.
Ruthless resolve shot straight into Lyssa’s heart. Pain ate at her right arm, muscles contorting with power, but this time she embraced it, opening her soul to the dragon, accepting that other half of her without hesitation.
Golden light flooded her vision. Hot as the sun, and bright.
Lyssa’s body contorted, expanding, her skin stretching until she thought she would explode from the force of the dragon fighting to emerge. Everything twisted — muscles and bone, the shape of the world — even the slant of light.
Wings erupted against her back. Bursting with fire.
Furniture scattered around her. The floor burned. She looked down, as though from very far away, and saw Eddie staring at her, his body surrounded in flames. Admiration and wonderment filled his eyes.
The Cruor Venator still wore her stolen leopard skin. But her gaze was human and dark. . and full of fear.
Not that it mattered. She was hardly a mouthful, for a dragon.
Which Lyssa discovered. When she ate her in one bite.
Blood flooded her mouth, bone crunching. The taste was awful, and not because she was eating another person. The rot of Georgene’s spirit was thick and slimy, coating the inside of her mouth and throat — and then her soul — in such filth that Lyssa thought eating shit from a sewer would have been better.
And then the power hit her — memories soaked from blood — and the world went black.
“Fuck me,” muttered Roland, as the dragon ate the witch. Eddie, who had never much cared for swearing, had to agree.
Fuck me was an appropriate response, along with Oh, my God.
Lyssa’s transforming into a dragon had been awe-inspiring: golden and hot, a shimmer of light that clung to her skin as scales erupted, and her body stretched with furious power.
But Lyssa as a dragon. . was the stuff of fairy tales and children’s dreams on starry nights. A dragon, who in older days, would inspire quests and long journeys — searching for gold, when the only treasure worth finding would be the dragon’s heart itself. Living, beating, and full of love.
God, he loved her.
The ceiling cracked above her head. Eddie had to dance backward as her wings nearly knocked him into the window. Roland stayed on the floor, breathing hard, weak from blood loss. Eddie crawled close, thinking about how stupid he’d been to stay so angry at the older man, these last few years. Seeing Roland wounded, tied up, in pain — felt too much like watching his father die for a second time. Making him realize just how much he still cared. He tried instinctively not to feel anything at all, to bury those emotions, but the well was already too full with Lyssa. The cap he tried to screw on wouldn’t fit.
“Hey,” Eddie said to the hurt man, just as Lyssa let out a strangled roar. Blood dripped from between her long white teeth—
— and then she collapsed.
Eddie dragged Roland out of the way before her long, scaled neck would have crushed him. He kept moving, half-carrying the older man as fire shimmered along her skin. Fortunately, she began to shift shape — and in moments had returned to her human body: naked and on fire.
“Roland,” he said.
“Go,” he snapped, sagging against the wall. “Hurry.”
Eddie raced to Lyssa’s side and threw her over his shoulder. The fire intensified when he touched her, and he felt his own power rise as he ran down the stairs to the cage.
He had barely closed the door behind them when she exploded. Moments later, he followed — and in those first few seconds his mind opened to hers, and a rush of emotion not his own flowed through him: fear and longing, and anger.
So much anger. Lyssa’s anger. He glimpsed memories — blood and death, snow and a forest in moonlight — and he knew that she was experiencing the murders of her parents all over again, this time in the body and mind of the Cruor Venator. From the perspective of the murderer.
He fought to reach her through their bond, struggling against a morass of spiritual slime that tugged at him with sticky tentacles. Lyssa huddled in front of him, a beacon of light amidst disease, and when he finally reached her, it was like touching the sun on a summer morning, clean and white-hot, and full of promise.
I’m here, he told her. Hold on to me.
He wrapped wings around her, wings of fire, and held her within the flames. Lyssa held him, as well, with a close, hard strength that bound their spirits together — closer than flesh, closer than blood — bound in spirit, together, as one.
Around them, the Cruor Venator’s dying soul thrashed and oozed with murder and filth — but that stain did not touch them.
We’re forever, whispered Lyssa’s voice.
And ever after, murmured Eddie.
Then, together, their souls consumed the last dark remnants of the Cruor Venator. . erasing even her memory.
Until it was as if she had never existed.
Epilogue
There was nothing prettier than New York City in the winter, especially around Christmas.
It was especially nice, Lyssa thought, when you had someone to share it with.
Eddie’s arm was warm around her waist as they slogged up Fifth Avenue to Central Park. It had snowed the night before, a massive, record dump — and the city felt quieter, a brief reprieve that would only last a couple hours. Or maybe longer. . since it was supposed to snow again that afternoon.
“Let me carry that for you,” Eddie said, taking her backpack and portfolio. They had returned to her old underground haunt to see if any of her paintings had survived — and to look for her laptop, if it was still there.
Amazingly, it was. Her wallet was gone (“Call it rent,” Eddie had said), but Albert had stashed her computer amongst his things, just in case she came back. He’d done the same with the paintings that hadn’t burned, stacking them carefully in a neat pile away from anything that dripped.
“You sure you don’t want to meet your editors?” Eddie asked her for the hundredth time.
“I’m sure,” she told him, exasperated by his persistence. “Baby steps, right? Besides, e-mail’s been fine this long.”
He flashed her a quick grin, and she shook her head at him.
San Francisco was now home for Lyssa, but she and Eddie were looking for someplace with a little more privacy, where they could build a room that would hold a raging fire. Because that sort of thing had a life of its own. . and not even a lot of love could chase away every nightmare.
New York City, however, was a nice getaway. They were staying at the Four Seasons, which, for a girl who had lived in a tunnel for three years, was odd and cool in the best way possible.
Lannes and Lethe had told them they could use their home in Greenwich Village, but Lyssa knew that the gargoyle still had reservations about her trustworthiness. Never mind that he and his wife were up in Maine. She didn’t want him to feel as though she’d gotten her Cruor Venator cooties over everything.
It would serve him right, whispered the dragon. Gargoyles are so self-righteous.
Hush, replied Lyssa, and said out loud, “How much time before we meet Ursula for lunch?”
“We still have two hours,” Eddie said. “Do we need to shop for Jimmy and Tina?”
She bit back a smile. “That sounds so normal. Shopping for Christmas presents.”
“I know,” he replied, and kissed her left hand, which didn’t have a glove because she liked feeling his skin on hers.
A golden ring glinted around her finger, a match to the one on his left hand. Simple. Nothing fancy. No ceremony, except something on paper to make it official and legal. Not that they needed that, but it felt good. Married for little over one month.
“Tomorrow,” she told him, tugging him closer. “Right no
w, let’s walk through Central Park.”
No one was out. The snow was too deep, and the paths hadn’t been cleaned. Drifts, however, melted easily around them — and they didn’t mind getting a little wet. Deeper and deeper they went, into the woods, getting lost in the middle of the city.
Finally, when it seemed as though the tangle had become part of a fairy tale, and the trees were thick and loomed like stark soldiers, they stopped and put down their things and lay together in the snow.
“Life is strange,” said Lyssa, pulling off the glove of her right hand. Golden claws gleamed, and her scales were blood red. Even regaining the ability to shape-shift had not healed that part of her body. She would always be caught.
But that was okay. She was okay. The last of the Cruor Venator, for now. Watchful, ready, waiting. Because one day, she knew, it would not be enough simply to leave her alone. Someone would come. Perhaps Long Nu. Maybe another witch. And she would have to fight again.
Not to save her life. . but to save the lives of the children she planned to have. . and to keep her mate, her husband, safe. Just as he kept her safe, in so many ways.
“I’d rather have it strange,” replied Eddie, in that low, thoughtful voice that she loved so much. “It would hurt just as much. But this way, there’s magic. And you.”
She rolled over and kissed him, hard. Then, she laughed, and began to strip.
Eddie sat up in the melting snow. “What are you doing?”
“Magic,” she said, as golden light danced across her skin and mixed with threads of fire. “Has there ever been a dragon in Central Park?”
“I don’t know,” he said, catching her clothes and grinning. “But there’s one now.”
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to my lovely editor, May Chen, and all the hardworking souls at HarperCollins who have been so very kind and supportive. I’d also like to thank my wonderful agent, Lucienne Diver — as well as friend and publicist, Elena Stokes.
To my readers, who are delightful and magical, a mighty thank you.
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Document creation date: 30.11.2011
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Within the Flames d&s-11 Page 32