Fire Maidens: Portugal

by Anna Lowe

  “Come with me,” a deep voice whispered an inch from Laura’s ear. “Hurry.”

  She nearly screamed. But it was Marco, and aside from the heart attack he’d almost given her, she had never been so relieved.

  He hurried her down the stairs, where they paused. Then he rushed her across an open area and stopped again before tugging her onward. Meanwhile, Finn’s confrontation with Tito had escalated, and chairs started to fly.

  Marco nodded at the welcome distraction. “Let’s go.”

  “What about Finn?”

  Marco shook his head. “Finn is right where I need him.”

  Her mouth fell open. The fight was a ploy? She peeked over Marco’s shoulder. Yes, it must be. An effective ploy that had drawn out and distracted Tito’s backup men.

  “Go,” Marco muttered, rushing her to the sidewalk.

  Outside, he pointed to a shiny black Ducati, and she halted in her tracks. He expected her to ride on the back of a motorcycle?

  In one smooth motion, Marco handed her a helmet, threw his leg over the seat, and waved her onto the back.

  Laura swallowed. Her first-ever motorcycle ride. On the plus side, she had a pretty hot chauffeur. On the minus side—

  Two of Tito’s men raced out of the Mercado, pointing and shouting.

  “Hurry!” Marco urged.

  “Promise me you’ll watch out for bicycles,” she insisted.

  Marco rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  Laura had barely jumped on and slipped her arms around his waist before he sped off. The front wheel left the ground, and she nearly slid off the back.

  “Hang on,” Marco called.

  He wasn’t kidding, as he proved over the next five heart-stopping minutes. First, he zoomed between two taxis. Then he slalomed around a truck, tucking back into their lane a hair ahead of oncoming traffic. Laura hid her face between his shoulders, not ready to face death. Just listening to angry beeps and screeching tires was bad enough.

  When the motorcycle slowed and rattled over a bumpy surface, she peeked down. Cobblestones?

  Marco spun into a half turn and stuck out a foot, making a quick stop to look back. Laura looked too. Were they being followed?

  At first, the little plaza they’d pulled into was quiet other than the tut-tutting of three old men who sat in the shade. But then a black car raced into view.

  “We have to take a shortcut. Hang on tight.” Marco revved and shot away again.

  Laura’s eyes went wide when he hung a sharp left at a tiny church.

  “Wait. Through there?”

  He gave her a grim nod. “Like I said — shortcut.”

  The motorcycle rattled into a side street and headed up a steep hill. Within seconds, the alley branched and petered out into narrow walking paths barely a yard across. Laundry lines hung between the second-floor windows of the houses on either side, and old women peered down from balconies.

  Then the slope grew steeper, and the lanes became stairs. Marco leaned forward, rattling up one flight. The next, he zoomed up by balancing on a three-inch-wide central strip.

  A man walking the other way with bags of produce flattened himself against a stone wall. Lettuce leaves flew, and he yelled.

  “Desculpe!” Marco called without slowing down. Sorry!

  By the time they shot around another few turns, Laura lost all sense of direction. At one point, they nearly bowled over an old man who was selling homemade cherry liqueur by the shot glass. Not long after, they zipped through a tiny square lined with orange trees, where little boys jumped aside with their soccer ball and cheered. Marco gave them a thumbs-up and sped on.

  “Slow down,” Laura insisted. “There’s no way that car can follow us through here.”

  Marco shook his head. “They’ll go around. They know where I live.”

  Her stomach lurched, and they raced on. Just when she thought her teeth might rattle loose, Marco whipped around another turn, roared up the ramp built into another narrow staircase, and shot out onto a street. A wide, paved street.

  Laura exhaled. Heaven.

  Then a bell jingled wildly, and Marco swerved inches away from an oncoming trolley. It rattled by in a blur of bright paint and flashing camera bulbs as passengers caught the action on their cameras.

  Marco cut across the street and sped up yet another alley. Minutes later, he skidded to a stop outside a gleaming white garage. Laura looked up at the big, cubic house.

  “Home, sweet home,” Marco muttered as the garage door swung open.

  Not that Laura’s heart could slow down. The minute Marco parked, he led her up to the second floor of the house through a set of interior steps, shouting for Amit the whole way. Then he tugged Laura over to a window and pointed down.

  “You’re our lookout. If anything moves, tell me.”

  She bit her lip and stared outside. Keeping lookout for what, exactly?

  Still, that was better than watching Marco pace, pound his phone, or berate poor Amit for letting her leave in the first place.

  “It was my fault,” she called out.

  Marco stabbed a finger at the window. “Watch the road.” Then he winced, took a deep breath, and added more softly, “Please.”

  Their eyes met, and what she saw surprised her. He wasn’t angry so much as fearful — for her. And his frustration wasn’t aimed at her or Amit, but someone — or something — else.

  So, yes. Marco was gruff. Bossy. Curt. But he was trying. And he had saved her — again.

  Thank you. For everything, she nearly said. Can you just try not to yell?

  His lips quirked, and briefly, she wondered if he could read her mind. Then he pointed to the window, and she went back to looking out.

  Behind her, Amit and Marco conferred. Then came an urgent phone call with Finn, though Laura couldn’t follow much of the strange mix of French, English, and Portuguese they used.

  A black car careened into the street below, and her breath caught.

  “Marco.” She waved, catching his attention.

  He spun around, still on the line with Finn, and signaled with his free hand. What? Who?

  She whispered and motioned at the same time. “One car. Three — no, four — men.”

  Marco covered the phone. “Did they step out of the car?”

  When she shook her head, Marco went back to his mile-a-minute conversation with Finn.

  She frowned. They were talking about flights. Dragons. Someone named Lombardi. Then Marco suggested something about Paris, but Finn seemed to strike the idea.

  “Marco,” she hissed as two men stepped out of the car outside. She held up two fingers with one hand and made a walking motion with the other.

  Marco came over to look for himself, then muttered, “Fausto.”

  A chill went down her spine. So much for her no vampires by daylight theory.

  Marco’s squared shoulders suggested he might charge out to fight the vampire. But then he glanced at her and slumped, as if conflicted about leaving her. By the time Marco wound up his call with Finn, another car had pulled up, and several more men stepped out.

  “I’m so sorry I got you involved,” Laura whispered.

  Marco shrugged as if saving damsels was an unavoidable part of his daily routine. “All right. These are our options…”

  Our options. She nearly hugged him.

  He counted on his fingers. “One, we can call in backup.”

  “Who? Finn?”

  He shook his head. “The Guardians.”

  Her heart leaped. The Guardians were the most powerful shifters in the city. Surely they would help?

  Marco’s tight look suggested otherwise.

  She tilted her head. “You don’t trust them?”

  He didn’t nod, but she could tell. And, damn. If she couldn’t trust the Guardians, who could she trust?

  Me, something deep in Marco’s blue eyes vowed. You can trust me.

  “Let’s just say their priorities and yours might not lie in the same di
rection,” he warned.

  Laura forced her hands not to shake. “Okay, then. Other options?”

  He smiled at her, and for a minute — an enduringly beautiful minute — she felt good. Strong. Maybe even admired.

  Then one of Fausto’s men pounded on the door, and they both whipped around.

  Marco frowned, then pointed another finger. “Option two. Amit and I can go out there and kick their asses.”

  She did a quick count. “Eight asses?”

  “They’re only vampires.”

  She snorted. Marco was making light of the odds, and she knew it. “Third option?”

  The pounding on the door grew louder. Marco ignored it, studying her intently. “We get out of here. I take you somewhere safe.”

  That sounded like a no-brainer, but his eyes clouded.

  “What’s the catch?” she asked.

  Obviously, it was something big. Huge. Almost insurmountable, judging by the crease in Marco’s brow.

  His gaze moved as he measured her up.

  Something not at all easy. Maybe even dangerous.

  Marco’s eyes glowed a deep, brick red — the color of alarm.

  Okay, something downright perilous. But then again, she did have a mob of vampires pounding down the door.

  “All right already,” she muttered. “Quit scaring me. Where can we go?”

  Marco’s eyes turned to the horizon — far on the horizon.

  His voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes took on a sentimental sheen. “Madeira.”

  Her gut dropped, because she’d heard about the place from her mother. Enough to nearly mutter, What was option one again?

  Chapter Eight

  Madeira. The moment Marco uttered the word, his soul filled.

  Just uttering the island’s name made him dizzy with memories. Rugged, towering cliffs. Waterfalls gushing out of deeply cut valleys. Lush foliage, crashing surf, and endless sea breezes.

  He blinked a few times and stared at Laura. What was it about her that made him concentrate on good memories instead of bad? Didn’t she know he was jaded? Grumpy? A loner who didn’t need a woman opening up a can of worms?

  “Madeira?” Laura’s hands trembled. “It’s an island, right?”

  The most beautiful island ever. Like something from your dreams, his dragon whispered.

  He nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

  “So, I guess we get…a ferry? A flight?”

  He wished. “Flight.”

  She nibbled on a fingernail. “Will we be able to book a last-minute flight?”

  “We can fly any time we want.”

  Then her eyes went wide, and she flapped her arms. “Whoa. Fly, as in fly? On our own wings? Isn’t Madeira way out in the Atlantic?”

  He looked at her, then out across the bay. The wind was fresh and from the east.

  Perfect, his dragon murmured.

  It was perfect, but hell. Laura had only been out flying a couple of times. Was she capable of flying over hundreds of miles of open ocean?

  Laura’s eyes sparked as dangerously as they had when he’d yelled earlier. That incensed, Don’t you dare underestimate me, asshole attitude peeking out from under her sweet exterior again.

  “How far?” she growled.

  “Marco! We know you’re in there!” Fausto shouted from outside.

  Laura nudged Marco’s arm. “How far to Madeira?”

  He studied her closely. She looked pretty damn fit, and she was just stubborn enough to make it through that marathon flight.

  She stood straight and stiff. I can do it, dammit.

  But her face was a little pale, and he could see a hint of, At least, I think so.

  He wanted to hug her and promise everything would be okay.

  Instead, he cleared his throat gruffly. “It’s a long way, but not impossible. I did it once.”

  “I’ve done lots of things once.” Once and never again, her tone implied.

  That was exactly how he’d felt the first time he’d pulled the crazy stunt of flying all the way to Madeira. But given the circumstances…

  “That woman is mine,” Fausto growled through the door.

  “Like hell I am,” Laura muttered, balling her fists. “Let’s get out of here.”

  And just like that, they jumped into action. Marco led her to the rooftop, marveling as he went. Laura had only recently been introduced to the world of supernaturals, and in the worst possible way. Yet she was ready, willing, and — hopefully — able to follow him across the sea.

  Still, when he whipped his shirt off, her eyes went wide.

  “No need to shred our clothes,” he explained.

  “Oh. Right. Clothes,” she stuttered, turning pink. “But won’t someone spot us flying away?”

  “An ancient spell prevents humans from seeing us.”

  That ancient spell also protected the city, but it was fading, and if the city didn’t find its Fire Maiden soon…

  Marco watched as Laura peered nervously over the edge of the building. Was he doing the right thing?

  Another loud bang on the door arrested his doubts. Now was not the time to second-guess — not with a rookie dragon to watch over and a long flight ahead.

  In the end, getting Laura out of her clothes and off the roof was easier than he expected. She made him turn around until she shifted, but for all that she hemmed and hawed, when the time came to take off, she did manage to leap into the sky. Her takeoff was shaky and uneven, but within minutes, they were soaring — truly soaring. So much, his heart soared too — especially when Fausto cursed and waved a fist, helpless to follow. It had been too long since Marco had set off on a mission he cared about deeply. Why, he couldn’t exactly explain.

  You know why, his dragon rumbled. You just won’t admit it.

  He frowned, but the beast was right. It was Laura. Something about her made his soul yearn for a life fuller than what he’d been living. The fascinated way she gazed down on the world rubbed off on him. The way she admitted her fear yet soldiered through it. That vulnerable yet powerful sense of who she was.

  Stay directly behind me, he called into her mind as they swept over the elegant lines of the Ponte 25 de Abril — a mirror image of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  We’re close to where we first met, his dragon sighed happily.

  Stupid beast. Would you concentrate? Marco barked.

  It did seem like a special occasion, though. He loved flying over the ocean. And to do so with someone else…

  Elation was the best way to describe it. He felt truly elated for the first time in years.

  But as the last point of land slipped away, Laura wobbled. Circling back, he flew beside her.

  “Stop fighting your dragon. Don’t overthink. Just fly,” he said, speaking aloud now that they were well clear of the city.

  “Sure,” she mumbled. “Just fly.”

  He gritted his teeth. Tact hadn’t been part of his military training, and it showed.

  Be nice, his dragon said.

  “Watch.” He demonstrated. “Three wingbeats, then a long glide. Let the wind take you.”

  Laura grimaced, hammered away at the air, then locked her wings stiffly. “Like this?”

  Not at all like that, he nearly barked. Thank goodness he caught himself first.

  “Um, close. Try to relax a little.”

  “Of course. Relax.”

  As gently as possible, he slid a wing under hers. “Keep loose there, and point a little higher with your nose.”

  I said, be nice, his dragon hissed.

  “Good job,” he threw in.

  And miracle of miracles, Laura loosened up a little.

  He thought back to his first flying lessons. His father had grunted monosyllabic military-style orders — and, hey, it had worked. But his mother had used a softer, gentler tone, and that had been a lot easier to respond to.

  “Looking good,” he whispered.

  “I’m a giant flying reptile. How could I possibly lo
ok good?”

  Still, a tiny smile formed in the corner of her mouth, and her posture wasn’t quite as stiff.

  “Tail down a little… Good.” He took the lead again. “If you stay right behind me, you can draft off my wake.”

  For the next three minutes, Laura bobbed in and out of his slipstream. But when she finally got the hang of it…

  “Oh!” she squeaked. “It is easier.”

  As easy as being nice, his dragon said. Keep it up.

  He shared a few more tips and even managed to come up with feedback that wasn’t too snippy or demanding. Laura listened intently and learned quickly — faster than he had, way back when. The first hour was over before he knew it, with the mainland well out of sight and Fausto increasingly distant in his mind. Freighters steamed quietly over the ocean below, some heading toward Lisbon, others for foreign ports. Tiny white splashes colored the steel-gray sea, though those whitecaps probably didn’t seem so tiny to the sailboats voyaging below.

  “How do you know where to go?” Laura asked.

  He mulled that one over. There was a pull on his heart, a little nudge from the wind. He’d always been able to find his way home, but this was different. As if some outside force were nudging him, too, showing him where it wanted him to go. Which was scary as hell, because he was used to charting his own course.

  No way back now, his dragon pointed out.

  He gulped away the feeling. To Laura, he murmured, “It’s home. I just know.”

  The longer they flew, the lower the sun dipped, and the more colors appeared along the horizon. First, a band of yellow, then orange, and finally, a brilliant red glow.

  “Wow,” Laura breathed.

  Marco took a deep breath. Wow, indeed. Their southwest course kept the sun off his right shoulder, easy to watch as they glided along. For a while, it felt effortless — even beautiful. Flying in silence through a vast universe without being alone.

  Much better than being alone, his dragon agreed.

  When the sunset faded, the stars peeked out from their hiding places, dotting the night with familiar landmarks. Eventually, the moon rose too, casting light that skipped over the waves like gulls. Dim, isolated lights marked freighters, while patches of inky darkness indicated areas where Neptune ruled undisturbed.

  It was beautiful but tiring, and Marco found himself searching the horizon for an island that was hundreds of miles away.