Mercy Burns (Myth and Magic 2)

“No. And if you can flame at night, why do you need me to sense the other dragons? Shouldn’t you be able to tell that yourself?”

“I should, but I can’t. Is there anyone near?”

He paused for a moment then shook his head. “They’re both upstairs.”

“Both? There should be three.” Unless Angus had already left. But why would he do that? Was he really just a messenger boy or was something else going on?

“There aren’t. Trust me.”

Not as far as I can throw you. I turned away and studied the bolt again. It looked really solid—and despite my earlier boast, I’d never tried to do anything like this before. Not with steel, anyway.

I raised a hand and lightly pressed one finger against the gap between the door and the frame. With the bolt directly opposite my finger, I reached down and called to the waiting fire. It came in an explosive burst of energy that had heat radiating from my skin and the air churning. I frowned and concentrated the flames, channeling and intensifying them, forcing them away from my skin and down into my hand, into that one finger. Heat shot out from my fingertip, the glow of it so intense I had to close my eyes lest the image burn itself into my retinas.

I could still feel the

heat of it, though. Could still see the glow of it, even through closed eyelids.

“I’ve never seen anyone control their flames with such precision.”

Damon’s words were little more than a whisper past my left ear. He was standing so close that the heat of his body washed across my bare shoulders and arms. So close that the raw, masculine scent of him—a scent that was an odd combination of musk, controlled violence, sweat, and blood—filled every breath, until it felt like his very essence was invading mine.

But perhaps what was even scarier was the fact that there’d been absolutely no sound to indicate he’d moved.

True to his name, he was as silent as a ghost.

I briefly opened an eye to check how I was doing and saw that the bolt was beginning to glow. It was working. But sweat was trickling down my forehead and my arm was beginning to shake. Worse, the maelstrom inside was rapidly losing its intensity. Generally, a dragon could flame for as long as she or he was awake and aware, simply because we were fueled by the heat of the sun. But it was now night, and my flames were drawing their energy directly from my body—a body that had lost a lot of blood in the accident and was still very battered and bruised.

I opened my eyes. The tight beam of fire was definitely less intense than it had been, but the bolt was glowing brighter.

I just had to keep going for a little bit longer, and we might be able to get out of here.

I bit my lip and concentrated on the flame, forcing as much energy as I could into it. The tremor in my arm spread to the rest of me, until my whole body seemed to be shaking with effort.

Hands touched my waist—just enough to hold me steady, and to catch me should my knees buckle. Damon’s grip on my injured right side—though gentle—had the pain flaring again, but his touch was also heated and strong, and the dragon inside wanted to snatch and use it. It was a temptation I resisted. He needed to cope with the men upstairs, and who knew how much strength he actually had left? He might have lasted longer in darkness than I’d ever thought possible, but I doubted even Death could go on forever without the sun’s warmth to fuel him.

The metal finally began to glow white hot. At first it was little more than a small pinprick right at the center of the flames, but it gradually spread, flowing outward across the hot metal.

Just a little bit more, I thought—and in that moment, the flames sputtered and died, and my legs went out from underneath me.

Damon caught me one-handed, pressing me against his side while he pushed his weight against the door. The muscles in his arm corded, and the exertion had his body shaking as much as mine.

For a minute I thought it might all be for naught, but slowly, surely, the door began to inch away from the frame. I broke free of his grip and grabbed at the wall to steady myself. Damon flung his full weight against the door and, with little ceremony, the bolt gave way.

The door sprang open. We were free of the cell.

Now we just had to get out of this place and away from the men.

Chapter Four

Damon barely stopped the door from crashing back against the wall. He looked at the melted bolt, at the strings of still glowing metal trailing from it, then at me. In the darkness, his eyes burned with an unearthly heat.

“That’s an amazing thing you did there,” he said, voice so soft it barely carried.

“Yeah.” I blew out a breath and forced my shaking knees to lock. We weren’t free yet, and as much as I wanted to sit down and recuperate, that wasn’t an option right now. “Where are those men?”

He glanced up the stairs. “One to the left, one outside.”

“I’m not going to be of much use on the fighting front at the moment.”