Today, it seemed that parts of her were grieving whether or not she wanted them to.
Lyssa ducked her head. Eddie’s fingers brushed the edge of her jaw. She flinched, and he made a soft sound between his teeth.
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m just wiping off some soot.”
His thumb brushed her cheek, and the fire inside her responded, lighting up her heart like some hidden sun. With it, she felt a terrible ache that was another kind of loneliness.
Lyssa had never been touched by a man she wanted.
Actually, “want” was too cheap a word. Every part of her felt inexplicably, inexorably, tugged toward this man. The attraction was primal, elemental — utterly beyond her comprehension. She would have blamed witchcraft if she were susceptible to that sort of thing, but in this case, all she could call it was insanity.
She didn’t know him. She didn’t want to know him. Yes, he had saved her life. She might not have been conscious, but she could smell a lie — and he was telling the truth about those two women. Two women. Just the right number. Exactly what the Cruor Venator would use.
No, she thought. No. I can’t want this man. Not him, not anyone. I shouldn’t even have friends.
Not Jimmy. Not Estefan. Not anyone who could get hurt because of her.
Lyssa pulled away from him. “Stop. Just. . stop.”
Eddie lowered his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I. .” Regret hit her, as did pain — flowing through her right arm. Bad, this time, a hard spasm that made hand curl into a trembling fist. She sucked in her breath, wincing.
“Lyssa,” said Eddie, with concern.
She shook her head at him and walked down the hall, holding herself strained and rigid. The television was loud.
“. . no word on what caused the explosion, and eyewitness reports are conflicted. Some have indicated that it might be the work of suicide bombers, but we’ve received no confirmation. .”
Lyssa walked into a brightly lit kitchen: white walls and counters, and a white stone floor covered in rag rugs. Other splashes of color came from bowls of oranges and grapes, and several potted geraniums. A cozy, elegant space. She wished it were hers, to curl up in, and read, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist.
The gargoyle perched on a heavy oak stool made from solid rough-hewn timber. A giant mug of tea was in front of him, along with a novel that had the words DEATH and LUST on the cover.
A small television was set to a news channel that showed overhead aerial shots of firemen putting out burning cars, and ambulances parked on the outskirts of a blast zone: a blackened, charred, scorched-earth circle that made the sidewalk look like the heart of a meteor strike.
Lyssa’s heart stopped. A stool pressed against her legs. Eddie gestured for her to sit down.
She did, then stood again. Anxious, miserable, horrified. Too many emotions boiling inside her — chief amongst them, fear.
“Fatalities?” she whispered.
Lannes watched her carefully and hit the mute button on the remote. Beautiful silence filled the kitchen.
“Some broken bones. No one died, or will die. That’s been confirmed about a million times in the past fifteen minutes.”
“When I look at that damage, I can’t believe it.” Lyssa sat down again. Her jeans were half-burned, her knees sticking out. Seeing them made her think of when she was a kid, and for one agonizing moment, she let herself imagine what her parents would have said about this.
Wow, her dad might have told her. Impressive.
Lyssa sought out Eddie and found him leaning against the kitchen counter, very still and quiet, watching her with those dark eyes.
“It’s not just the Cruor Venator,” she told him, wincing when her voice broke. “I have to get out of here before something like that happens again. I’m not safe.”
Lannes straightened. “Wait, I thought. .”
Eddie cleared his throat. The gargoyle blinked and shut his mouth.
Lyssa frowned. “What? You thought what?”
Lannes hesitated. “Well, I thought he caused. .”
He didn’t finish. Eddie glared at him. “Where are the clothes you promised?”
The gargoyle’s wings shifted uncomfortably. “Er, bathroom. Down the hall.”
Lyssa stood and walked from the kitchen. She glimpsed a bathroom, door half-closed.
Eddie caught up with her. “Lyssa.”
Heat flared, wild beneath her skin. “Why did he think you caused the fire?”
“He assumed. I let him.”
“Why?”
Eddie grimaced. “I don’t know. I was trying to protect you.”
Her heart did a funny little jump. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know.”
Lyssa stopped by the bathroom door and made the mistake of looking at him. He didn’t appear any different than he had moments before — still scruffy, covered in soot — so handsome dirty, she couldn’t imagine how good he’d look clean. But it was his eyes that drew her in. They were her weakness.
His soul was in his eyes. And what Lyssa saw in his soul was mystery, and pain, and shadow. In her dreams, she had never seen such emotions in his eyes: just determination and a dangerous resolve.
He hurts, whispered the dragon. Like you, his heart has nowhere to fall.
You could fall together.
Lyssa blinked, swaying. Eddie seemed to sway with her — or maybe that was her imagination.
You are not alone, said the dragon.
“You,” she began, but her voice was hoarse, and she had to stop to wet her lips. “You lose control of your. . fire?”
Regret filled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Have you ever hurt anyone?”
“Yes,” he said again, and the pain in that one word hurt worse than it should have. She ached to touch him — but he stood so still, and so did she, her right hand clenched in a fist against her stomach, the other white-knuckled as she held his jacket closed.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, and found herself adding, “I’ve hurt people. I didn’t mean to, but the possibility I might do it again. . frightens me. . more than anything.”
“It’s the same fear I live with.” Eddie hesitated. “But you don’t have to be afraid with me.”
The truth of that was almost too much to believe — and heartbreaking. He was immune to her fire. She was immune to his. Something she had never dared imagine.
But there were other things to fear. . that he most certainly would not be safe from.
Lyssa pulled away, reluctantly. Warmth faded. Cold crept in. An insidious, bone-deep chill that made her feel as though she had stepped from a warm fire into the old Montana winter, with its hollow winds and ice.
Eddie made a small sound deep in his throat, like pain. It sounded like the same pain she felt, putting distance between them. As though she were stretching some part of her heart too tight — and it might snap.
She was afraid to look into his eyes. Gaze down, she turned and entered the bathroom. A small part of her hoped he would reach out and stop her. . but he didn’t. She should have been happy for that. Happy to turn the tide on whatever she was feeling.
He was a stranger. She did not know him. Whatever this was in her heart. . it couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. She might believe in magic, but not. . trust at first sight. Or instant, devastating hunger for another human being.