He grabbed Fyra and jumped out the window, flashing as they went. Her exhilarated laugh faded into the night and they landed by the SUV.
Rourke and Zoey were right behind them.
“Who’s Stryke?” Zoey asked no one in particular. “Why does he seem familiar?”
“My frenemy,” Fyra answered.
“We’ve briefed you on him,” Bishop filled in. “This wasn’t our first encounter with him.”
Zoey nodded and eyed the mansion. Flames licked out of the windows, smoke gathered and rose to the stars. Snaps and crackles preceded the middle section of the roof caving in.
“Well, this was an extreme waste of time.” Zoey spun slowly to face Fyra. “And it was a trap.”
“Totally.” Fyra’s irises jumped and danced to the rhythm of the house fire.
Zoey recoiled. “Wow. You agree that you led us into a trap. That was easy.”
Fyra’s mouth dropped open, and Bishop stepped between them. “She didn’t know they’d be here.”
“Really?” Zoey crossed her arms. “Because she was insistent this is where we needed to go.”
“You wanted Rancor and I knew he’d be here.” Fyra’s defensiveness was causing her heat to bloom.
“With another member of the Circle and more minions than we’ve ever encountered,” Zoey shot back.
“I didn’t know!” Heat waves radiated around Fyra. Rourke and Zoey stepped back.
Bishop rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her with his cold like she’d done for him. But a lifetime of keeping himself calm had aided his efforts. She had no pressure valve.
“And even if he’d wanted to inform me, which he wouldn’t,” the crunchy winter grass at Fyra’s feet smoldered, “he couldn’t have because I’ve been with Bishop the entire time. You know, to help you.”
Zoey jerked her thumb over her shoulder to point at the inferno. “Really? This kind of help?”
Sparks danced along Fyra’s hair and it was the only warning Bishop had. A boom like fireworks temporarily deafened him. He ducked, taking Fyra with him. The SUV shot into the air and landed fifty feet away, crashing into trees, a blackened piece of rubble.
“Holy shit.” Zoey’s stunned expression showed a hint of fear of his demon. She rose from where she was crouched with Rourke. “And if I believe you, we still have this for an issue.”
Fyra’s lower lip quivered as she gaped at the smoking SUV, but her heat had simmered. If Bishop was the type to hit a friend, he’d pound Zoey into the dirt.
“Look, I have a plan.” Not for Fyra’s emotional outbursts, but one problem at a time. “We need to talk to D and Calli about it.”
Zoey glanced between him and Fyra. Rourke’s astonished look stayed on the smoldering vehicle.
“Fine,” Zoey said. “We go back. You two first.”
Chapter Nineteen
“No,” Fyra said, embers falling off he hair. “You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.”
Back in the conference room, as daylight approached, Fyra was grateful the crazy idea Bishop had proposed couldn’t be acted on immediately. Because there was no way they’d carry it out in the compound.
“It’s a…genius plan.” Demetrius barked out a laugh. “Hellfire, it’s so simple, too. And we have all we need.”
“Think about the what-ifs.” Fyra couldn’t let them go through with it. A tendril of smoke curled out of her nose. Great, now she was going to torch the place. On top of them not believing her, she’d destroy their home and her chances with Bishop.
“You’d know more about those than us.” The challenge in Zoey’s tone stoked Fyra’s flames.
Bishop rubbed her leg, his cool touch seeping through her horrendously uncomfortable pants.
“I’m not exactly invited to the vampire parties where they summon the demons of the Circle.” Some minions were, but never her. Vampires got twitchy around a fire demon. “Even the vampires the brokers worked with preferred not to get close to me.”
“Why?” Demetrius said drily. “Did they get tired of buying new vehicles?”
Rourke snorted back a laugh and Bishop’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. Even Zoey’s iron-maiden lips twitched. Did that mean they were warming up to a demon among them, or were they all just teasing her?
Bishop cleared his throat in a piss-poor attempt to stop laughing. “She’s right. How can this go wrong?”
Fyra sputtered. “How can’t it? You’re summoning one of the Circle.”
All this time she’d been running from Rancor and they wanted to invite him over.
“I am,” Bishop said adamantly. “They’ll feel the vampire connection and follow it, but with my demon blood, he can’t possess me.”
“What if he goes on a rampage?”
Calli spoke up. “I’ve found the wards to contain him.”
“Don’t buy the salt stories; it’s horseshit if the salt isn’t warded.” Salt, like, mildly burned, but not enough to say no to a plate of French fries. But warded salt was the fuel of nightmares and Fyra refused to enter a room with even a granule.
“This doesn’t call for salt,” Calli replied.
What a relief.
Calli straightened. “I know! We can do it at my old place. Exactly where my father summoned Malachim.”
Demetrius clasped her hand, his face pinched with worry. “Are you sure you’d be okay with that?”
Fyra shifted. So touching. She shouldn’t feel uncomfortable, but concern for a loved one—love for a loved one—was unusual in her world. When she witnessed it, she only thought of her mother.
And her mother would tell her this plan was killer and Bishop was a hot piece of fang.
But the plan was still crazy and demons were professional opportunists. Any shortfall and Rancor would seize on it.
“And if Rancor finds a way into any of you?” Fyra watched as brows furrowed and hands twitched to reach for a weapon at the thought.
“It’ll be me and Calli,” Demetrius said. “We’re bonded, so that adds an additional obstacle. Rourke.” He looked around the table. “That’s about it.”
Creed knocked on the table. “Oh, we’ll be there. I can wire us in.”
“Will it be a hardship to change out of your Bermuda shorts and polo?” Fyra hadn’t meant to let loose a catty statement, but there it was and she was genuinely curious.
“Do you want to borrow them?” he retorted. “Rancor might not be interested once he gets a load of you in that getup.”
Bishop, bless his heart, tried to growl before he choked on his laughter. Fyra couldn’t muster anger, either.
“Oooh, demon burn.” She leaned toward him with a wicked grin. “I’m telling Betty you called her clothes ugly.”
Creed sobered. “Don’t you dare. My birthday is in a week and I want my birthday pie.”
Demetrius cut into their ribbing. “Sunset then. Gather what we need and meet at Calli’s old place at sunset.”
Everyone moved to get up and leave but Bishop’s question froze them.
“If this works, then what? What about Fyra?”
No one left, but they all sat rigidly on the edges of their chairs, Fyra included.
Demetrius looked directly at her. “Fyra, can you control your fire?”
“Depends on what you mean by—”
He switched his gaze to Bishop. “It’s a serious matter, Bishop. We have innocents under this roof.”
Fyra imagined torching Betty and a lump formed in her throat. Sure, the female was older than any vampire Fyra had come across, probably even most demons, but Fyra didn’t want to be responsible for extinguishing her beautiful flame.
Then there was Calli with her sunny gold hair. What if Fyra seared her as hot as the real sun?
And Rourke’s mate wasn’t a big, bad warrior. Fyra hadn’t officially met her, but the female who could bag a guy like No-Smile Rourke had to offset his sour with serious sweetness.
Creed was, well, Creed. And she liked him, but she would
n’t be sorry if she destroyed his wardrobe.
Who else was here she could accidentally destroy?
“I can’t stay,” she said hoarsely.
Bishop scowled and grabbed her hand. His cold offset her heat yet again.
Demetrius rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fyra’s situation is a ‘one day at a time’ kinda thing. Rancor first. Where Fyra will exist without fear of impromptu incinerations is a worry for another day.”
“We’ll practice,” Bishop insisted.
Did he know what he was suggesting? “We can’t go outside the building without drawing attention.” Demon balls, she could destroy the place with “practice.”
“And you can’t practice in here. Just, no.” Demetrius sighed and pinned Rourke with his green gaze. “Rourke, teach them that meditation shit you do. Then go home to Grace and rest up.”
Demetrius offered Calli his hand and escorted her from the room. Zoey left and Creed chased after her. If Zoey was the one Stryke was dedicated to, Creed would get flattened. Nothing would stop Stryke, and Fyra hoped she’d get to see the show.
Rourke rested his hand on his fire extinguisher. “Grace is waiting for me. Let’s get this over with. Close your eyes and take deep breaths…”
***
They stood in the library, prepared and ready to summon. Candles flickered around the room. “Summer beach,” the scent was called. A relaxing smell to help them all stay centered. The musty smell of books tickled her nose. Fyra sneezed and smoke puffed out. Rourke shifted farther away and Calli averted her eyes but seemed to want to watch in fascination.
Fyra noticed Calli’s fingers twitched to study her, but not in a bug and petri dish way. The female was legit fascinated with Fyra and her fire. And then there was Bishop. It was like the girl had discovered she’d been sitting on a precious gem cave for years, thinking it was just a large rock.
It could be unnerving, but Calli’s interest was more scholarly than scheming like Fyra was accustomed to. Fyra hadn’t been able to explain the difference until she’d realized Calli wanted to get to know her, not get to know how to use her.
And Demetrius’s mate was okay with her family home being destroyed to free Fyra and wave a big middle finger to the underworld. Fyra was okay with that anywhere, but after she heard Calli’s story, she wondered if the young vampire understood the ramifications of leveling her home.
But then Fyra didn’t need the underworld where her mother had perished in order to remember her. And things might turn out just fine. They’d bag and tag Rancor and move on.
Or Rancor could come back ten times more ferocious because they’d humiliated him at Godet’s manor.
Fyra looked around at the library. Calli’s mansion resembled the other primes’ places, but it was smaller and rundown. Tidy, but no updates had been made for years. As far as loud and obnoxious mansions went, it was sensible and cozy.
Too bad they were inviting evil to come visit.
Bishop stood on one side of a long, narrow table. Calli was on the other side, pointing out the passage he was to read. They hadn’t brought the tome, but Calli had copied the incantation and Fyra had double-checked it and pointed out the areas they needed to customize to Rancor, the same areas that had opened Calli’s father up to being possessed.
In addition, they’d brought supplies to hold Rancor in stasis.
She shuddered and Bishop glanced back at her with a sympathetic frown, then at the load of warded salt Rourke held. Grudgingly, and because she wanted Rancor dead, she’d told them about the effects of the mineral and what wards to use. She’d also added words of caution at depending on salt for control. In the caverns, demons loved to trade tales of failed summonings and the naïve individuals that had basically laid out welcome mats for demons to walk into their bodies. Demons weren’t known for their timidity, especially those of the Circle, and the fear of salt wouldn’t stop them. One smudge and the containment would be broken. She had her fire, but the vampires needed a backup plan.
Fyra hung back as Calli directed Rourke’s salt distribution. Just looking at the substance made her feel like she had scarabs munching all over her. Other than her role as advisor, and not the expert one they should have, she had no other place here.
Bait. That was her real role, and to make sure nothing happened to Bishop. She had dibs on him.
Fear skittered up her spine and her internal temperature rose. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Not just calming her heat, but her energy, if what Stryke guessed was true. An energy demon for a daddy. Had her mom even known? Probably not, or she would’ve taught Fyra a better way to master her powers. Thinking cool thoughts was a good first step, but she had to envision her heat being coiled and at her command.
Bishop peeked over his shoulder at her and tipped his chin up, as if to ask, Are you doing okay? She nodded because, yes, she actually was.
Demetrius hung next to her, his grim gaze monitoring the goings-on. The closer they got to the summoning, the quieter they all fell.
So much hinged on this one event. If they killed Rancor, what was in her future? No going back home for her, but her fire made staying on Earth challenging, made people not want her around. If Rancor wasn’t killed, then she’d be preoccupied with the what-nows—keep running away from him or keep trying to kill him?
“I think we’re all ready.” The hesitance in Calli’s voice wasn’t from a lack of confidence. Tension hung thick within the library.
Bishop scratched the back of his neck. “Do I just read it off?”
“Say it like you mean it,” Fyra encouraged. “Show him who’s boss.”
Bishop started speaking. Fyra swallowed hard.
An ominous dimming of the candles around her didn’t help her confidence.
A deep moaning, similar to when a demon was dispatched back to hell, echoed through the room. Bishop’s strong voice continued and Fyra swore he grew in size.
Her nerves began to express themselves through her heat. The candles jumped and her hair cast off a faint glow. If she looked in a mirror, she’d bet her eyes were lit up. Deep breathing was no longer enough.
A figure formed within the circle of salt. A low, rough chuckle resonated from Rancor. He had to stand hunched under the ceiling, and his lip was curled into a snarl, saliva dripping down his enormous fangs.
To his credit—and way disturbing—he didn’t get irate at his entrapment. He folded his talons in front of himself and took a moment to take it all in.
“You’ve saved me some trouble.” His expression became almost bemused.
But under the brimstone taint he exuded, Fyra also sensed boiling rage. His yellow eyes pinned her.
“Fyra. Come to greet me?”
“As you witnessed last night, I wouldn’t miss it.” Her purr a reminder of how she’d nailed his prime host and smoked him.
His cheek twitched. Score one verbal hit for her. She took a few calming breaths and recalled their earlier training. Would she be able to call her power if she needed to? Not just her fire, but her incendiary effect?
Yes. Confidence. I’m confident. She said the phrase over and over again, sticking to the mantra Rourke had helped her decide on.
Rancor’s laughter burst into her pep talk. “I’m surprised you talked your vampire toy into calling me.”
“He’s strong,” she said.
“Size does not make strength when it comes to this kind of power.” He pointed to the salt at his feet. “Been busy sharing secrets, Fyra. You do know what the penalty is.”
Death. As if that weren’t waiting for her anyway.
“They have a lot of tricks up their sleeve. A lot. I think one of the Circle has been helping them.”
All humor drained from his face. “You lie.”
“Do I? It’s happened before.” She didn’t know if it had or not, but it made sense. Look at Bishop wandering around. Unlikely he was the only one hiding demon heritage.
Rancor’s lip curled in a snarl again. “Enough.”
Bishop hunched his shoulders and shook his head. A blast of cold came off him and they all stumbled back, even Rancor.
The demon growled at his failed attempt to inhabit Bishop. “Impossible.”
A grim smile spread across Bishop’s face, until they all realized Rancor was outside of the salt circle. He couldn’t roam free without Bishop holding him, but with the conjuring done, he just had to overtake one of them, bond or not.
Rancor’s fangs dripped green pus as he set his sights on Calli, probably perceiving her to be the weak point in the room.
Bishop jumped over the table with his fists balled. Slabs of ice rained down on Rancor, who lashed his long talons out at Bishop. Bishop swiped them away and they prowled around each other.
Fyra focused on the fight, on their moves. Her fire might fizzle around Bishop, but hitting him would be enough of a distraction for him to get severely hurt by Rancor.
Bishop bellowed as Rancor gouged deep slices into his abdomen.
Rancor shimmered mid-fight and Calli screamed. Demetrius raced for his mate, as if physically holding onto her would prevent Rancor from taking her for his.
Rourke sprinted to Bishop’s aid and Fyra held a fighting stance until there was a chance to lob a burst of fire at him.
Unfortunately, they underestimated Rancor’s physical strength. Even Fyra had, who’d witnessed it but hadn’t been on the receiving end.
At least Rancor had no more chances to shimmer as he engaged both vampires.
Fyra had never felt so damn helpless. Not even when she’d worn the bracelet. Calli cowered, but only to stay out of the fray and page through her notes, looking for anything that would help. Demetrius hovered over her protectively.
Deep ulcers formed on Rancor’s feet from the salt burns, but he grappled with the vampires as if nothing bothered him. Rourke and Bishop managed to stay out of the demon’s grip as they dodged under his swings to punch and jab. Bishop would circle around while Rourke would dart the opposite way and land a kick. Rancor couldn’t pin them, but his claws shredded clothing and skin with each swing. Rivulets of blood ran down Bishop’s arms and soaked his shirt. Through the tatters in the material, muscle and bone were exposed.
Bishop (New Vampire Disorder Book 3) Page 20