“But if I am?” Lyssa stepped toward her, and Nikola swayed. “You know what that makes me.”
Conflict filled her eyes. “No. We watched you for weeks. You live in a hole. You have nothing. If you possessed that power, you would never deny it. No one would.”
Lyssa barely heard her. Her blood was tingling.
Your mate is close, whispered the dragon. He is terrified for you.
She tried to bury her unease. How do you know what he’s feeling?
How do you not?
The idea of Eddie being here, witness to what she was, what she was capable of becoming, made her insides turn to rubber.
“Is Georgene in that house?” Lyssa asked, proud her voice sounded sharp, strong.
Nikola’s jaw flexed. “Yes. She is waiting for you.”
“How many people are imprisoned?”
No response. Lyssa pulled off her glove, flexing her clawed hand and savoring the pull of the contorted muscles in her arm. The witch’s gaze settled on her hand and stayed there.
Lyssa wished she had Eddie’s skill with fire — to summon a flame and have it burn in her hand — but all she could do was let the woman look, and imagine.
“That knife doesn’t mean anything to me,” she said softly. “Tell me how many people are there.”
Nikola gave her a hateful look, but there was caution in it, too. “Go and find out for yourself.”
As the tingling in her blood intensified, Lyssa turned on her heel and strode toward the house.
You could not run forever, whispered the dragon, as pain throbbed down her arm. You must fly or die, little sister.
Just as she reached the front steps, twin beams of light swung and bounced off the house. Lyssa listened to the low rumble of a car engine — watching as headlights flickered through the trees that lined the winding driveway. The vehicle that appeared was an older Cadillac, built like a tank. Lyssa couldn’t see the driver, but she knew who it was.
Eddie left the engine running as he climbed from the car, keeping his hands in plain sight. No sign of Jimmy.
“Lyssa,” he said, watching the witch.
“Get away,” she told him, heart in her throat, dying a little on the inside even as another part of her thrilled that he was here, with her.
Nikola tightened her grip on the knife. “Hello, puppy.”
Lyssa felt the power in her voice — an attempt to spread her infection of fear. But beneath that was a tremor.
Weakness. Uncertainty. Lyssa thought about the memories she had seen from Estefan’s death — this woman, slashing him with that blade. Torturing him simply because she could.
Eddie gave the witch another lingering glance, full of disdain. It made him seem decades older — those searing eyes in that young, hard face. He didn’t need some magical hoodoo to make someone feel uneasy. Just a look.
He walked right up to Lyssa and she braced herself, cut to the quick by the flash of concern and disappointment in his eyes.
“Of course I ran,” she said to him, before he could say a word. “That’s what I do.”
“You ran in the wrong direction. And you forgot someone.” Eddie took her hand, entwining their fingers. “Why do I get the feeling I’ll be chasing you for the rest of my life?”
“You wish.”
“You’re trouble.”
“I won’t change.”
“I’ll just have to run faster to keep up,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “If you dislike me, that’s one thing. But if you’re trying to keep me safe, don’t bother.”
She started to shake her head, but before she could say a word he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her ear. A smoky scent washed over her — real smoke, drifting off his clothes, accompanied by sparks. The tremendous heat that flowed from his body into hers felt like a balm on her soul, stealing the worst of her fear and misgivings, and self-hatred.
“Being safe alone holds no appeal,” he whispered. “We haven’t known each other long. . but trust me. I’d rather have no chance, with you.”
“You,” she said, but couldn’t speak all those words inside her. Eddie kissed her hand.
“I know,” he said.
Lyssa dragged down a deep breath and looked at Nikola, who was watching them with hollow eyes.
“You have a choice to make,” she told the witch. “Accept the truth that you’ve been lied to and that your friend is dead because of it. . or continue to serve the lie. This”—and she waved to Eddie and herself—“is no illusion. If Georgene told you that I am merely a shape-shifter, then she did so thinking, perhaps hoping, it would get you killed.”
Nikola swayed. “She would not do that.”
“Then you really don’t know the heart of a Cruor Venator,” said Lyssa.
The witch’s gaze darkened, and she glided past them to the house to open the front door.
Lyssa and Eddie shared a quick look, then followed. Hands tightly clasped, fingers knotted. Inseparable. Her heart pounded too hard, and she forced herself to breathe through her nose. Blood scents crowded, though. Too much blood, bitter and rusty, mixed with perfume.
She saw a dark red footprint on the hardwood floor. Red, as in blood.
More than one print. A rusty trail, leading across the foyer to the front door where Nikola stood. Nearby, a bloodstained towel.
“I was busy, earlier this evening,” she said, and slipped off her shoes. Traces of dried blood covered her feet.
Lyssa’s knuckles cracked as her hand curled into a fist. Eddie quivered.
Tracks covered the floor, leading through a home that would have fit nicely in the architectural magazines she sometimes bought for reference and daydreams. Big open rooms, huge windows, dark slabs of stone and wood fitting into the walls and floors, creating a space that felt as much outdoors as in: rustic, rough, rich.
She caught the cool clean scent of freshwater — and clung to it as something better than blood. She heard water, too — a low gurgle that seemed to come from below, and in front of her.
A few more steps revealed an actual creek running through the house, surrounded by artisan-laid rock. In some spots, thick glass sheeting that had been laid on top as a clear floor, but other areas were exposed.
Blood covered the glass, too. Fresh drops. A normal person might not have noticed, but it practically glowed in her vision. It seemed different, somehow, than the blood on Nikola’s feet. Golden, even.
She glanced at the witch, but her gaze was almost immediately drawn back to the blood on the floor.
“What is it?” Eddie asked, also watching Nikola, who studied them with thoughtful, uncertain eyes. The front door stood open. Lyssa wondered, with enough motivation, whether Nikola would walk out into the night and abandon her Cruor Venator.
“This blood,” she told him. “It’s not human.”
Nikola’s gaze sharpened. “You know that?”
“I know the blood on your feet is human,” she snapped, anger making her throat thick. “But this. . this right here is not.”
“Whose blood is this?” Eddie demanded.
Nikola was silent a moment. “I don’t know. I was given a vial and told to scatter it.”
Lyssa wanted to walk away from that blood. She feared it with a cold desperation that made her break into a nauseated sweat.
But when she tried to take that step back. .
“Lyssa,” Eddie said quietly, and a reckless hopelessness rose inside her.
Still holding his hand, she knelt and swiped her finger over the blood. A quick glance showed Nikola watching her with a deep frown.
“Eddie,” she whispered, hoarse.
“I have you,” he replied, and she licked the blood off her finger.
A blast of heat hit her, and then a sharper sensation, focused behind her eyes. Her psychic connection with Eddie bloomed, allowing her to feel his concern.