A strong, warm hand grabbed his, holding tight. Fire flowed through that touch, sinking into his skin.
Lyssa. He was not alone.
She stared at him with concern, but Eddie didn’t wait to explain. He let go of her, and ran toward Matthew — plowing through the crowd with hot, wild, determination. Matthew ran, too — fast, darting. Eddie glimpsed his back just before he disappeared up the stairs to the Kosmo Klub’s front door.
Lyssa caught up just as he hit the sidewalk. Matthew was already at the end of the block, and Eddie took off after him — heart pounding, fury fueling his muscles, lending so much speed that he caught up with the older man as he swerved down an alley.
Matthew spun, nearly tripping, and his hand flashed inside his jacket. He pulled out a gun, pointing it at Eddie — just as Lyssa staggered into the alley with them.
Dammit.
“Edward,” said Matthew, breathlessly. “I wish you hadn’t seen me just now.”
“Following me? Visiting my mother’s home?” Eddie edged in front of Lyssa. “What did you think would happen?”
Matthew was still breathing hard, one hand holding his chest. He really did look sick, even frail, but there was a wiry strength about him, too — and something quietly frenzied about the way he looked at Eddie that was totally unnerving.
But not as frightening as knowing Lyssa was just behind him, in range of a bullet.
Eddie edged closer. “You should have died in jail. Isn’t that what happens to child molesters?”
Matthew’s mouth stretched into a ghastly smile. “When they’re lucky. Let’s just say. . I wasn’t. But it gave me plenty of time to think about you.” The gun wavered. “You’re the reason I went to jail. You killed my brother. Everyone thought I set him on fire, but I knew it was you. I saw the look in your eyes when he went up. Sort of like the look you’re giving me now.”
His finger began to squeeze the trigger — and the world slowed down with agonizing force. Eddie stopped thinking. His heart and body took over, and he raised his hand at the man.
Fire erupted, consuming him in a spire of flames. But even as Matthew burned, he fired the gun.
Pain lanced across Eddie’s arm, spinning him. Just a flesh wound.
But then he heard Lyssa scream.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Everything happened too fast, up until the moment Eddie got shot. But when he spun, hit — the world dropped away.
Lyssa screamed in rage and lunged toward Matthew Swint. She heard shouts behind her, but those were lost beneath the roar in her ears. It didn’t matter that he was already dying, that she could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin as the fire licked up his legs. A terrible fury clawed up her throat when she thought about him hurting Eddie — and a sister that she would never know.
Children, abused. And now he was back, trying to kill. . to murder. .
Your mate, whispered the dragon, in a voice crackling with rage.
Flames burned through the glove of her right hand, turning it to ash as she plowed into Matthew’s burning body. Her claws gleamed with fire.
She barely felt the first blow or the second, but when the blood sprayed from his throat and hit her face, the heat and scent of it flooded her with terrible pleasure. For the first time in her life, violence did not frighten her. It felt righteous.
Matthew Swint screamed, but his voice choked as Lyssa pressed her mouth to his throat wound and drank — deep and long, lips tight as her dragon teeth sharpened and bit into his flesh.
His blood was not sweet. It was terrible. She realized in that moment why a Cruor Venator chose victims so carefully: only good people with good lives, because when drinking a soul — drinking memories — it was only sweetness that a Cruor Venator would want inside her mind.
Matthew tasted like shit. And the images in his head. .
Lyssa finally broke off, gagging — but it was already too late. She felt the cigarette between her fingers as she burned a young boy’s hand—a beautiful child who disgusts me because he is weak, a fag, a piece of shit—and then the memories shifted, and she saw a lovely teen girl with long dark hair and huge eyes, and—
— Lyssa lashed out, unthinking, desperate to kill what was flowing through her mind—
— realizing too late that it was Matthew receiving her final, killing, blow. She saw him drop, half his throat missing, eyes rolled back in his head as the fire turned his skin black.
Strong arms wrapped around her body, pulling her backward. Eddie’s voice broke through the roar in her head, and she clung to him — staring in horror at Matthew’s body.
She had killed him. Consumed his dying blood.
Power ripped through her, tearing through her veins. Lyssa gasped, clutching her head, throat cracking with a soundless scream as a thousand, a million prickling needles dug into her soul.
And then, just as a abruptly, the pain faded. . leaving nothing behind but a floating sensation that was cold and sharp as a knife’s edge.
Birthright, whispered the dragon, with pride and pleasure. Finally.
“No,” she said, horrified.
“Lyssa,” said Eddie sharply, and she staggered from him, holding up her hands — which were covered in blood.
Eddie chased her, grabbing her wrists. “Come on. We have to go.”
Lyssa stared at Matthew’s charred, blackened remains. Cars drove past the alley entrance, but she thought she heard shouts, coming close.
“No,” she said again, and Eddie pulled ruthlessly away, making her run.
When they reached the end of the alley, he slowed them to a walk and slung his arm over her shoulders. Lyssa staggered against him, clutching his shirt. Power still flowed through her, and it was sweeter than she wanted to admit.
“I killed him,” she murmured.
Eddie said nothing, wincing as he reached into his coat for his cell phone. Lyssa sucked in her breath. “He shot you.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
Lyssa closed her eyes, nauseated. “Be honest.”
“I am.” His hand tightened around hers. “I’ve had much worse, I promise you.”
Sirens filled the night air. Eddie made them walk faster, and Lyssa finally straightened, trying to pull herself together.
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said, as he dialed his phone. “Actually, I take that back. I really wanted him dead for hurting you.”
“Good,” he replied, flashing her a quick hard look — and then regret hit his eyes. “I didn’t mean. . I know how you feel about. .”
“Don’t.” Lyssa took a deep breath, steadying herself. “He’s not worth second thoughts. Trust me. . when I drank his blood, I saw. .”
Eddie blinked, and his breath caught. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, haunted. He swallowed hard and gave her a sharp nod. Then, with visible effort, he turned his focus back on making his call.
“Roland’s not answering,” he muttered, moments later. “We’re close, though. We should go there. Lay low. I don’t know how much anyone saw back there.”
“You think. .?”
“I don’t know,” he said grimly. “But Dirk & Steele has too many connections to let any of us go to jail for taking the life of a child molester.”
“You make it sound like the mob.”