“You’re only alive because you helped me ferret out the traitor,” he’d crooned.
That familiar rage welled, a feeling unlike any she’d ever experienced before or after that day. At the time, most of it had been aimed at Trance, but in her dreams, it was at herself. Her mom had died because of her.
A large fireball exploded behind her eyes, a replica of the one she’d detonated in Trance’s lair. The only good part of the dreams that haunted her was that she got to see him burning alive over and over.
Everything in Trance’s lair had gone up in flames, burning around Fyra with an intensity that’d blind any other creature—and most other fire demons. She’d napalmed his ass.
Brimstone and tinder, why couldn’t she do it again? Rancor’s ashes would be lost in the drafts of the underworld’s caverns.
“Fyra!”
She frowned. That was new.
“Wake up. Fyra!”
Her eyes snapped open. Darkness was thick in the middle of nowhere, but she could tell they weren’t moving.
“Get out!”
Bishop loomed over her and flipped the lever of the door. It flung open and he shoved her through.
She shrieked as she tumbled down into the ditch. Once she came to a stop, the orange glow behind her explained what had just happened.
With a gasp, she whipped around. “Bishop. Get out!”
The big brute didn’t know her fire wouldn’t hurt her, but it’d incinerate him. What was he doing?
She scrambled to her feet. Through the smoke and flames, she saw him rummage through the backseat, grabbing as much as he could hold.
Idiot! She rushed around the vehicle, planning to pull him out, frantic about how she could extinguish her own fire from his skin.
She grabbed him by the shoulders, and the heat from the burning interior lifted her hair off her face. Yanking back, they both stumbled across the asphalt.
In the distance, headlights were coming their way.
“Bishop.”
He righted himself, his arms loaded with their smoking gear. Bishop’s black shirt and black tactical pants steamed in the cold night air.
And it was snowing. She lifted her palm to watch flakes land on her skin. Fyra scanned their surroundings; the snow fell only around them.
She peered at Bishop, who was glowering at his Hummer, which was engulfed in demon fire. “Are you making it snow?”
His only reaction was a tightening of his grip on their stuff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“And don’t be a bad liar, Bishop. Otherwise, what’s the point?” Other than it was fun. “Come on. Humans freak out about car fires.” She tugged on his elbow and he slogged along next to her. “I’m an old hand at this. Someone will take pity on us and give us a ride, and as long as we stay out of police custody, I can hotwire another car.”
“No stealing.” He pulled out his phone, but the plastic around the outsides had melted. Sighing, he tucked it back into his pocket. “What kind of dream were you having?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who’s Trance?”
“I was in a trance, that’s all. A sleep trance.”
“Now who’s a bad liar? You said his name and then shouted ‘You killed her,’ and next thing I know, my prized possession is having a smoke. Was it your mam?”
She winced, despite his endearing term for her mother. More than one bed in this realm had succumbed to her violent nightmares. Some nights, she slept in the ice caves. Most nights, actually. And the Circle let her because they were terrified of her fire, afraid she’d turn them into demon tinder.
If only she knew how.
Demon balls, if only she knew how to use any of her powers decently.
Bishop glanced over his shoulder. “It’s a semi coming up on us. Maybe I can flag him down.”
“Well, if it’s a dude, let me do the talking. You tend to intimidate human males.”
Bishop grunted. “I’m a vampire, remember?”
Yes, she should’ve. Because as soon as the semi stopped and checked on them, Bishop threw his vampire influence out and the trucker happily transported them to the next town.
Bishop used the man’s cell to call Demetrius, who arranged a car to be ready for them.
“We can stay the night,” she suggested, but he only scowled at her as he wiped the man’s phone of the communication.
It had been worth a shot. Looked like she was getting an undetermined number of nights’ stay at the vampire’s compound.
***
Fatigue dragged at Bishop, and his legs and back cramped in the tiny car Demetrius had purchased for them. By human standards, it was a normal ride, but Bishop’s neck was at a constant tilt to keep from hitting the roof.
He’d forbidden Fyra from going to sleep. She chatted incessantly but avoided anything dealing with Trance or her mother. Bishop listened, mostly amused at her antics roaming Earth in the early decades of her life. It wasn’t until she fast-forwarded to the recent past that his ears perked up.
“Then Stryke was all, ‘You threw me under the bus, Fyra,’ and I totally did, but in my defense, that’s when I thought he was coming and going using the brokers. Now I’m not so sure. I think he’s got a sweet-fang for someone up here. I’d love to know why he can come and go at will. Not that I’m complaining. He saved my ass in—what town was that? Did you go there?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she talked right over him.
“I guess you had to at least go check out the tanker. It was something. I’ve made a lot of fires, but none of them were around major fuel sources. Ka-boom! And I went flying. It was unreal. Fire doesn’t bother me, especially my own, of course, but not even I was safe from the force of the blast. Remind me to steer clear…”
She kept going. His own fault for not letting her sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was a diversionary tactic to keep herself awake or if she was nervous around him. No complaints, other than the havoc her voice was causing inside his pants.
Stryke. He remembered that name from when they’d infiltrated the…she called them brokers. They’d been referring to the humans who recruited humans for second-tier demons’ use as cult leaders. But brokers made sense. They dealt in human hosts.
The one known as Stryke had killed the humans and then his host to escape Bishop and his team. All in the same house Fyra had jumped to when she’d first arrived.
Stryke could come and go at will. Another critical piece to give to D.
Did Fyra know what a sieve of information she was? He truly didn’t think so. She might suspect from how her mam had died, but did she really know how bad it was? Did the Circle know? Likely. And they’d take advantage of her.
He wanted to growl, but he didn’t want to stop her continuous chatter. He should tell himself she deserved it, she’s a demon, but other than the women whose bodies she’d used to fuck him, he couldn’t find a reason why. He’d grudgingly agree that based on what he’d discovered about human hosts, those women knew what they were getting into, had hoped for it.
She’d killed the trucker.
Either that or be accosted. Although, she could’ve taken him. But the altercation would have threatened her discovery.
He scrubbed his face, dragging his eyelids down and snapping them back up. He didn’t know anymore, but they were almost to the compound.
They rounded a bend. The glow of city lights brightened the horizon of Freemont.
“And we’re back.” Fyra leaned forward to peer out the windshield.
If she was as tired as he was, she didn’t show it. Her beauty was as radiant as her features, distracting him from clothes that’d seen better days. Clothes she’d had on when jumping out of a window, and before that, in the bathroom…
Fyra shivered. “Brrr. Whatcha thinking about, Bishop? It’s getting a bit nippley in here.”
He glared straight ahead. Logically, he should blindfold her to keep the location of the compound from being obviou
s. Doubt it would matter, though, the way they’d come after her in Chicago.
He drove through the city and back out the southeast side into the woods where the compound was snuggled away.
“Pretty countryside,” Fyra said between chewing her nails. When had she adopted that habit? “Too bad it’s like a giant box of kindling for me.”
With a sinking feeling, he understood the accuracy of her statement. Demetrius might need to consider having a fire engine on hand, and no less than eight hundred fire extinguishers. Would it do any good against demon fire?
He massaged his temples. What a headache Fyra was.
A large concrete complex came into view. Very few windows decorated the exterior, and a large plain sign that read “ Double-D’s Consulting” was the only adornment on the front. Double-D for his leader, Demetrius Devereux. If anyone inquired, they consulted on various weapon systems and defense tactics, but they usually made sure no humans came asking.
Bishop drove around to the row of garage doors on the side of the building. He pulled into his normal stall and wanted to whimper at how tiny the car fit in the space versus his Hummer—his burned-up, totaled Hummer.
“This place could use some color,” Fyra announced.
With her under the roof, there’d be no need. Fyra’s vibrancy was enough to light up the entire structure, literally.
Four figures surrounded the car. The sound of the garage door shutting covered any sound they made.
Fyra’s eyes widened and instead of fear, he sensed excitement. She jumped out, and Demetrius, Rourke, and Zoey simultaneously pulled their guns. Calli hovered behind Demetrius in front of the vehicle. Like Fyra, her gaze was more curiosity than animosity.
“Ermigerd!” Fyra spun to eye them all with her mouth hanging open in wonder. “Y’all look so much more brooding close up.”
Zoey cocked her head, her gun not wavering, and Rourke narrowed his eyes.
Demetrius’s brows lowered as he contemplated Fyra’s fangirl reaction. “You’re the one called Fyra.”
“And you’ll never guess why.” Fyra motioned toward the door. “I know, I know. I have a special place in a prison cell. Lead the way.”
Bishop exchanged glances with the rest of the team and nodded.
“Zoey, lead the way.” Demetrius hung back until Bishop escorted Fyra past him, following Zoey out the door.
Bishop had never been so grateful for the cold cement walls and concrete floors throughout the structure. Waves of heat shimmered around Fyra. He tensed, sorting through ways to deal with her fire, how she’d attack, and who’d she’d go for first.
But as her gaze flicked from Zoey’s back to her surroundings, and with the stiff way she held herself, he was hit with a wash of guilt.
She was scared. His demon feared them. He put himself in her place. What if he had to run from everything he knew or be destroyed? Then what if the only place he could go was filled with people who didn’t trust his species and thought the best demon was a dead demon?
No, it had to be part of her ploy. Soften him up so she could get away again.
If he kept lying to himself, maybe he could believe it.
Chapter Ten
This place was a fortress. Flutters of foreboding skittered up her spine.
If she went nuclear, their home would burn with them in it. Didn’t vampires know how flammable they were?
They’d better have walk-in freezers to stick her in. To put themselves in.
Faint traces of others beyond the ones she knew to be part of Bishop’s crew lingered in the barren concrete hallways they marched through. Hellfire, she was a menace to them all.
What were they to her? She’d bonded with their partner, their friend. A demon that to them should be used or killed.
She was so tired of being used.
A flush crept up her torso. More dire thoughts and she’d be a Roman candle.
Think cold. Think frigid baths. Ice caves. A cold hunk of male meat who’d been so focused on her mouth he’d frosted the bathroom.
Yeah… Was her new line of thinking cooling her off or heating her up?
They went down a wide flight of stairs. And another flight. So, the fangers were going to store her belowground. Would it be easier for Rancor to locate her, or would the earth conceal her vibe?
Their footsteps echoed like a squad of soldiers was powering through the area. Which was exactly what they were.
Fyra lifted her gaze to the ceiling. They could’ve been on the first floor for all the character in the decor. “Ever heard of an interior designer? I hear they can do wonders. I mean, unless you like gray on gray, but even the underworld has more personality than your digs.”
In front of her, Zoey shot an unreadable look over her shoulder. That girl was a tough one, down to the severe bun that taxed each hair follicle. Was she who Stryke was hot for? Ophelia? One of the dudes?
Creed was the only male left solo. She’d laid claim to Bishop, and Rourke and Demetrius had mates. Like the ray of sunshine behind her with Demetrius. Calli was the young child who’d been bonded to Draken, then had totally tromped his ass. Fyra smirked. Her time with Trance had saved Fyra from Draken’s advances. He’d have been gentler than Rancor, and better looking, but to commit a girl to virginity or she dies? Abhorrent. Just…not right.
But Demetrius, with those bright green eyes and trimmed sable hair, he was yummy enough to save the big deal for. Not the big handful of male that Bishop was, but probably an animal between the sheets.
Again, not like Bishop. There was a reason she’d chosen him.
Her fire curled into a ball in her center. Huh. Lascivious thoughts of her vampire and she wasn’t wrapped up in flames, but left at a delicious simmer.
Zoey stopped in front of a metal door and tapped on it. A series of clicks preceded the door opening.
Since Vampire Dark and Brooding Rourke was behind her with Demetrius, either Creed or Ophelia was behind door number one and in charge of watching her.
Would Bishop take a look-see? Oh, now she liked the thought of that. If he was behind those cameras…
The room they brought her into wasn’t the prison itself.
Fyra whistled. “Now that’s got some style.”
Double layers of clear Plexiglass with heavy bars in between. A nice cot and a— Oh, hell no.
“If I have to tinkle with someone watching, I’m going to light the place up.”
The atmosphere in the room thickened. Demetrius, Rourke, and Zoey adopted stances as they prepared for her attack. Bishop shifted from foot to foot. One side brought him to her defense, the other side joined his team.
Perhaps Bishop’s reluctance to destroy her would act like a good reference in her favor.
“Down, boys. I’m only joking.” She eyed the metal shitter and her internal simmering fireball grew a few notches. “But I’m not. Do you have one of those wardrobe partitions?”
Bishop’s wary gaze caught and held Demetrius’s. “We’ll work on getting you one.”
“Bishop. You’re a shit liar, remember?”
Demetrius spoke, his tone full of authority. “We don’t get off on females seeing to their basic needs. Get in.”
“Please.” She threw Demetrius a dirty look. “Some demons have manners. I can give you some tips.”
A sharp inhale came from the sunny blonde. Not an indignant oh no you di’n’t but surprise that Fyra had a personality and some wit. Must be because she wasn’t being vicious, just bitchy.
Fyra gave her an impish smile and the female’s lips twitched.
“Can I talk to you after you’re settled?” Calli asked her.
Demetrius’s mouth tightened. Didn’t like the idea of the missus chatting with the demon, huh? Well, if they could watch her pop a squat, they could watch her talk to the insanely beautiful vampire.
“We’re on camera.” Fyra stepped inside the cage and pointed to the corners. “Don’t you two ever record yourselves, hmmm?” she teased and Demetrius
stiffened.
Bishop coughed into his hand to cover his obvious discomfort. Zoey swung the cell door shut, closing Fyra inside. Fyra almost called out to stop her and hand her jailer the bedding, but it was good to keep a little tinder behind in case she needed a plan B.
She would sit demurely on the cot and face them all down, but the hyperventilating effect of the clanging cell door uncoiled her ball of fire. No infernos yet.
She’d think preemptive cold thoughts. Ice caves. Giving Bishop, and that glorious length of his, head.
Yeah, that was doing the trick. Her heat shrank back.
“Rourke.” Demetrius inclined his head to the wall that must house the party viewing equipment. “Stay outside the door.”
Demetrius gave his mate one last look before he breezed out with Bishop, Rourke, and Zoey on his heels.
Bishop left her. No look backs, no are you going to be okay.
Her lower lip crept out.
Calli clapped her hands together. “I have so many questions. What are you willing to tell me?”
To the point. No false charm or threats, but she’d straight-out asked.
Fyra crossed her arms. “I’m gonna do you a solid. I never cared for Draken.”
Calli’s brows shot up. “Why not?”
“You met him.”
“Yes, I met him. I don’t go for forced mating.”
Was that a dig? And so smooth. Fyra’s respect went up a notch, along with her irritation.
“Oh!” Calli grabbed a swivel chair and rolled it closer to sit. “I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not… It is kinda what you did to Bishop.”
She’d tricked him. There was a difference!
Fyra pointed both index fingers toward herself. “Demon.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Calli’s lips. “Indeed. Why’d you leave the underworld?”
“To disappoint one of the thirteen, and I didn’t want to be tortured and mutilated.”
“Rancor, correct? You operate under his oversight?”
Fyra nodded.
“Draken was under Malachim, the Circle member who used my parents?”
“Malachim’s second-tier minions are a piece of work. At least I have a cool partner to work with.”
Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3) Page 9