Nite Fire: Flash Point

by C. L. Schneider

  “Are the police after one like you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you aren’t a part of it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why do you feel responsible?”

  “I don’t. Not really. Maybe a little. Mostly, I’m mad. This world is a gift, Sal, and you shouldn’t fuck a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Snickering, Sal slapped his knee. “My father used to say that, didn’t he?”

  “The man had a way with words.”

  “I remember. But not all those words should be repeated by a lady.”

  “Oh, so now I’m a lady? When did that happen?”

  “You always were. In my eyes, anyway.” Sal’s pale blue gaze ran over me. I was a mess with sweat stains on my tank top and my wavy hair sticking up all over, but he didn’t see any of that. Sal had a crush on me when he was eight. He still did. “Even so…” Sighing, he glanced away. “Trust your instincts. If it feels bigger than you can handle, it probably is. Call in some anonymous tip or something if you have to, but stay out of it and let the police do their job. After all, the deed is already done.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t think it is done. And it is big, Sal. Bigger than anything I’ve encountered in a long time. That’s why I can’t stop thinking. How much am I missing? What is it I can’t see?” I stared at him. “How did a part-time hair dresser and an insurance salesman with two kids afford a house in the city limits on a plot twice as big as any other on the block?”

  Sal scrunched up his forehead. “Drugs? Gambling?”

  “So far, they’re clean.”

  “Then you’re not looking deep enough. Anyone who shows up sporting more than they should in my neighborhood, I know they’ve got something to hide. There’s either money under the mattress, skeletons in the closet, or buried treasure in the basement. Hell, maybe it’s all three.”

  Sal’s words sparked a thought. “You’re right. We need to look deeper.” I planted an energetic kiss on the top of his head as I got up. “Sal, my friend, you’re a damn genius.”

  “Well, it’s about damn time someone noticed,” he grumbled.

  I flung him a grin as I jogged off, past the boxing ring and into the women’s locker room. It was small, an after-thought in a place bursting with so much testosterone that, back in Frankie’s day, most women wouldn’t have even considered walking in the door. There were a handful of lockers and benches, three shower stalls, a single toilet and a sink. A small counter and mirror had been added sometime in the last forty years.

  In the early morning or early evening, you had to wait for a shower. Afternoon was the quietest time of day, and no one was inside. Only one or two lockers were in use.

  Popping mine open, I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. I texted Oren first, seeing as he hadn’t replied to any of my messages in the last day. Then I called Creed as I undressed. He wasn’t available, so I left a message asking to see the Chandler house again. I also asked him to check the deed for previous owners. Hanging up with a promise of delivering whatever reports I owed him, I grabbed a towel off the shelf and turned on the faucet in the shower.

  I didn’t wait to get in. I wanted the cold shock. My recent moment of clarity might lead to something, but I needed more of them. I needed to see how it all fit together. How the victims fit, I thought, closing my eyes as the water rushed over my face. One man, two women, and two children…

  I wasn’t counting the victims outside the apartment building. That attack was purely reactionary. Neither did I add in Dan Chandler. If I was dealing with Guild operatives, then the hit had been planned for weeks, maybe months. If the husband was part of it, they would have ensured he was in the house before breaking in.

  Different genders, different ages and physical features...

  The crime scenes were dissimilar and miles apart. The victims were all killed at night, but at different times. The only clear connection was the cause of death and the burning; fire and water; two of the most common lyrriken abilities. Less common was the blue-haired girl’s power to summon both. Yet she hadn’t killed alone. Her companion had been right in the thick of it. But what could a mother and her children, a jogger, and a homeless man have done to end up with a Guild target on their backs?

  I was still deliberating that one when the locker room door banged shut.

  A shadow passed by on the other side of the white curtain. I heard the bench creak with weight as I pumped the shampoo into my hand. Working the pink liquid into my hair, bubbles slid down my skin, streaming my thighs to pool on the shower floor around my feet. I raised the temperature and the small space filled with steam and the scent of wild flowers.

  As I turned to rinse, I noticed the shadow was up and moving. It approached the wall of shower stalls, and the contours were all wrong. The tall, broad body stopping directly outside my curtain was almost certainly not female.

  With a casual reach, I filled my palm with soap and rubbed my hands together. As I rubbed the lather over my stomach, I scrutinized the form through a building layer of mist. There were no visible lines of a weapon. The shadow’s stance wasn’t threatening.

  Inhaling deeply, I put my lyrriken senses to work and sorted through the smells. The soap was pungent. Beneath it was the usual sweaty gym aroma. And beneath that…

  I tugged the curtain aside with a fast, angry yank. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Splash marks dotting the front of his brown t-shirt, Ronan looked me up and down with a wide dimpled smile. “Admiring the view.”

  “Get out.”

  “Ouch,” he grimaced, clutching his chest.

  “What did you expect, an invitation?”

  “Do I need one? After all we’ve been through? All we’ve meant to each other?” His voice turned husky. “After how long it’s been?”

  I grunted. “It’s not like you to have a dry spell.”

  “Who said mine was dry?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Dahl. You made it clear after last time.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  A wounded look softened his eyes. “If you don’t want me around, just say it.”

  I almost did, but he didn’t want an honest reply. Ronan was a flirt, a charmer, and a manipulator. Candor between us had never been his way. It was mine. “You lied, Ronan, every day. You cheated, and you couldn’t stop stealing if your life depended on it, which it did—and mine—which kept the cops on our tail even when the retrievers weren’t.”

  “All that, and you still loved me,” he grinned.

  Exasperated, I sighed. “I don’t know what coming here to this world did to you, but the person you were on Drimera…that’s who I loved.”

  “That’s who you left. And don’t act like I’m the only one who’s changed. The difference is, Dahl, the person I became, was still able to love the person you became. I still do.”

  Without asking, Ronan stepped, fully dressed, into the stall. He put a hand on my bare waist and another on my face, and my mouth went dry. Savoring the heat of his skin, I didn’t protest as he moved me to the side and stepped under the spray. He leaned his head back. Water drenched his hair, tightening his shaggy brown waves into curls. It soaked through his shirt and darkened his jeans.

  I licked the water from my lips. “Ronan…”

  “Yes?” He closed the curtain.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “This…” He peeled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the shower floor. Pale streams coursed down over his chest and stomach, sliding between the muscles, accentuating his perfection. “And this…” With a nonchalant hand, he popped open the button on his jeans. “And…” His hands cupped my face. “Definitely this…” Hazel-green eyes locked on mine, Ronan kissed me. After a brief hesitation, I kissed him back, and I felt his lips curve in a smile of satisfaction.

  “Asshole,” I murmured against his mouth.


  He murmured back, “You could kick me out.”

  “Shut up,” I breathed, and kissed him harder.

  Ronan slid one hand back over my lathered hair and gripped my neck. He inched closer. His chest brushed against my nipples, turning them hard. I let his tongue in, and the taste of him ran a shiver down my back. Like old times.

  Ignoring the tremble in my legs, I floundered for a morsel of reason and turned my head. “You shouldn’t be out in the middle of the day. I told you to lay low.”

  “I hadn’t heard from you.” He wiped the soap off my jaw. “I was worried.”

  “About me…or whether I’ve managed to save you yet?”

  Smiling, his fingers moved down the side of my neck. “Both.”

  “Wow,” I grinned. “Honesty. That’s new.”

  “I thought I’d give it a try.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  All amusement left him. Lust darkened Ronan’s gaze. “Do you want it to?”

  “Very much.” I pushed him back against the shower wall. My mouth took his, and I worked it hard. My kiss, fueled by frustration and resentment, had nothing to do with love. It was about one simple need: pleasure. It was the only thing I’d ever truly been able to count on him for.

  Ronan moved a hand in between my legs. I smiled against his mouth. Water slid between our lips as his finger slid inside me. As he explored, my own hands roamed, enjoying the familiar flawless terrain of his body. My nails dug their way over his strong back and shoulders. My fingertips remembered the lines and the shapes like it had been seconds, not years, since I’d last stroked them so eagerly.

  Releasing a playful groan, Ronan seized my shoulders and pushed me back. Water splashed off the muscles of his arms, all taut and solid as he held me. An abundance of power flowed through his hands. I felt the bruises forming beneath his fingers as he pulled the skin of my neck between his teeth. His drenched jeans were rough against the front of me, rubbing tender skin; making my breath shred and my blood pump.

  I brought both arms up and out, and broke his hold. Unbuttoning his jeans, I undid the zipper and yanked the wet denim down over his hips. His hands were instantly under my ass, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, scraping the skin of my thighs as stunning coppery scales rippled over his torso. As Ronan held me up, I pressed my palms flat against the shower wall behind him. Water streamed onto my head, slicking my hair and spilling over my shoulders as I eased back down.

  The width of him parted me. His length filled me, and I shuddered.

  Ronan took two steps and slammed my back against the wall. Hips moving, muscles clenching; I clung to him as he shoved deep inside. His thrusts were slow and hard.

  I buried my head in his shoulder and enjoyed the ride.

  Fifteen

  Ronan left the locker room, and I finished my shower. As I dried off, I called Oren’s office. I was done waiting to hear from him. After confirming with his secretary that he’d be in this afternoon, I went home to change for an in-person visit. I thought Oren might appreciate me showing up in something professional for once. He cared about things like that, about maintaining his human image. I didn’t. With a few exceptions, my clothes were mainly functional. I chose leather and denim because the material was durable. Boots worked for most terrain. Sleeveless, backless, or lace-up shirts, even t-shirts that stretched, came in handy if I needed to shift. Belts were good for holding weapons. Jackets concealed them.

  It was different for Oren, though. His human occupations were often long term and filled with meetings, society gatherings, and photo ops. Mine were a lot shorter and far less glamorous.

  I stared into my closet for at least ten minutes before I gave up. I pulled out jeans, gray lace-up boots, and a black t-shirt from some bar down the street. I slipped on a gray suede jacket to cover the bruises Ronan had left on my arms. Sunglasses took care of the sudden emergence of blaring orange in the sky.

  As I headed out, I looked more like I was going to a club than an office, but we’d known each other too long for Oren to truly take offense. He was one of the first lyrriken I found in this world. More like he found me.

  Us, I chided myself; wondering why, when I looked back, did I never think of Ronan. Why did it always seem like those first years here had been me struggling alone?

  Because he was always leaving?

  Or was it because, even when he was there, I’d still felt alone?

  My mood souring, as the blocks went by, I turned my thoughts to the case. I went over the layout of the Chandlers’ living room, the condition of the bodies, the footprints coming from the back of the house to the front. I recalled my chase from Nadine’s, my trip down the hospital stairwell, trying to remember every detail of my lyrriken attackers, every word they said. Obviously, they knew who I was, but the blue-haired girl’s reaction was different from her boyfriend’s. He’d wanted answers. She’d wanted to play.

  I spotted a coffee shop three blocks from Oren’s office. Ducking inside, I picked up a large cup. I didn’t take a sip until I’d crossed the street. When I did, I couldn’t spit it out fast enough. The liquid inside was tepid at best, with at least double the sugar I’d asked for.

  Disgusted, I turned around abruptly to make use of the garbage can I’d just passed—and I saw him. Aside from his heavy perfect-for-hiding-weapons bomber jacket on a summer afternoon, the man had faltered at my unexpected change in direction. It was a split second reaction. There was a small crowd of pedestrians between us. I might not have noticed on a normal day, but I was already on high alert, and his response was unmistakable.

  I had a shadow.

  He was large for stalking. Muscular, he was six foot three at least. His features were attractive in an ominous foreign mobster sort of way with a neat goatee, and a nice head of honey-brown hair hanging to brush his firm jaw. None of that matched the man I’d tangled with at the hospital. But was he the third lyrriken at Ella’s house? Or was he someone new?

  Attempting nonchalance, my tail turned and slipped into the crowd.

  I gave him a ten second lead before I followed.

  Two blocks later, when his gaze lingered in the reflection of a tinted store window, I knew he’d seen me. He picked up the pace then, but gradually, so as not to draw attention.

  After three more blocks, he ducked into an alley. It was a typical dead end, smelling of week-old garbage and sandwiched between five-story brick buildings. I hovered at the edge, watching him walk to the end. There, he turned and faced me. His eyes, a distinctive golden brown, locked on mine. I thought about leading with a comment on his lousy surveillance skills. Then the sewer grate to the right of him began to move.

  The rusted circle lifted up. It scraped the asphalt, and a man climbed up the ladder. As another followed, I smiled. My tail hadn’t screwed up. His plan had worked perfectly.

  The new arrivals rose to their feet. They moved to flank the first man, and I stared at the line-up with a shocked frown. Aside from eye color and a slight shade difference in hair, all three were nearly identical. They had the same build, facial features, and clothes, like triplets.

  Not human ones, I decided, taking in their lyrriken scent.

  It was rare for a human woman’s body to withstand the growth of three lyrriken inside her at the same time. She must have been exceptionally strong.

  And so, in turn, would be her offspring.

  It was how it worked. Lyrriken hybrids took only the most notable traits from their mothers. It was why the male elders were so fussy about their selection of human mates. Being able to assume and hold the form of a human male for only a few weeks once or twice a year, there wasn’t much time for mistakes.

  A sound like a lock turning echoed behind me. I whirled around, and the bustling street was gone. In its place was a shimmery red brick wall.

  It was a trick I’d seen before. To anyone passing by on the other side, the wall was nothing new. They wouldn’t remember an alley entrance or a space between the buildings. They w
ouldn’t even look this way. The element of misdirection that accompanied the illusion wouldn’t allow it. It was already messing with the human portions of my brain, tapping on my thoughts, wanting me to look away. It was the mental equivalent of: move along, there’s nothing to see here.

  It also meant no one was getting in or out until the wall’s maker either took it down or died. Seeing as I didn’t like being caged, option B was more likely.

  Another lock click echoed through the alley. I pivoted back with less urgency, not surprised to find the windows and doors on the surrounding buildings gone. Their walls were smooth stone now, top to bottom, like they’d never existed. Someone had ensured there would be no interruptions or onlookers, no witnesses to the skirmish that was unquestionably about to unfold.

  I studied the three men again. The one on the right had a red halo around his clay-colored eyes. It was the same red as the brick wall. Illusionist, I thought, surprised and impressed. Mental talents were rarely so developed in a lyrriken male.

  My attention moved off him as something on all fours skittered near the dumpster to my left. Dark and no taller than my knees, the creature smelled of soil and blood.

  I tossed my bag to the side. “This isn’t a good time.” Slipping off my jacket, I threw it on top of the bag. My sunglasses went next. “I’m a little busy solving murders and hunting killers. But I can pencil you in next week.”

  The one in the middle, who had followed me, replied. “You do their work so you may eat and sleep indoors. There is no shame in that. But eating becomes moot when you are dead.”

  My eyes narrowed. I thought about the knife pressed against the small of my back. Not yet.

  He attempted to lessen my obvious wariness with a smile, but the curving of his lips only added a sinister edge to his features. “Explain the deaths how you must,” he urged. “Steer the humans away from our kind. And be done with it.”

  “I’d love to. Unfortunately, spontaneous combustion is hard to prove when the victims were nailed to the floor…and drowned.”