The place was deathly quiet. I couldn’t even hear the ticking of a clock. I called to the fire within, and watched it flare bright across my fingertips, filling the shadows with its warmth. Leon would sense my presence whether or not I used the flames, so I could see no point in walking around in the dark. Still, I tempered the flames to a muted glow and walked forward, following a slightly musty-smelling passageway around to the right. It ended in a set of stairs with a door at the top.
The metal creaked under my weight and I paused, waiting to see if anyone responded. I couldn’t hear or feel anyone close, but that didn’t mean anything when you had senses as unreliable as mine could sometimes be. I wrapped my fingers around the handle, then doused the flames and slowly opened the door.
And heard the footsteps.
I froze, my breath stuttering to a halt. I flared my nostrils, trying to get a hint of who was approaching, but the only scent I could catch was the stench of stale cigarettes and alcohol.
I stepped into the room and let the door close, my fingers against the wood to prevent it from slamming. The footsteps were stealthy and moving away to the right. Though I was getting no scent, I sensed he was dragon. It wasn’t Damon, so it was either Leon or someone else.
Someone we hadn’t accounted for.
I bit my lip, torn between the sensible option of just getting out of there and the need to help Damon when I could. He might be muerte, he might be a killer, but he didn’t know Leon like I did. The man was a bastard, and a devious one at that.
And even a trained killer could die if he was shot in the back. Leon wouldn’t have any qualms about doing something like that.
I blew out a soft breath then carefully followed the steps, picking my way through stacks of furniture until I reached another doorway. I peered around carefully and saw the stranger. He was a dark-haired man with a thickset body and arms the size of tree trunks.
Not someone I wanted to tackle, no matter how well I thought I could protect myself.
And yet I couldn’t let him sneak up on Damon, either.
After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped out the doorway and pressed my back to the wall, creeping along after the stranger. The fires burned within me, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Whether he sensed that, I don’t know, but suddenly he turned around, and I was staring into eyes as flat and as dead as stone.
I flicked my fingers outwards, releasing my fire. It streamed forward, burning across the air, splitting into several ribbons before swirling around him, encasing him in flames.
But I didn’t need to do any more than that, because Damon was coming. I could feel him—a presence whose heat burned somewhere deep inside me.
Then the guard laughed. It was a cruel, harsh sound. He touched the flames with a finger, drawing then into his body, feeding on them.
“You’ll have to do better than that, love,” he said.
“She has no need to,” said a familiar voice from the shadows. Damon appeared, chopping with one hand at the guard, who dropped to the floor, his hands grasping at his neck, making a strange gurgling sound in his throat. I realized that his larynx had been crushed, and that I was looking at a dead man.
My gaze rose and met Damon’s. His eyes were as flat as the stranger’s had been a moment ago, and yet they chilled me far more.
“Suffocation isn’t a nice way to go, Damon.”
Something flickered in the dark depths, then he stepped forward. With a quick flick of his hands, he broke the man’s neck, killing him swiftly.
“Your soft heart is going to get you into trouble one day,” he said, turning around and walking back up the hallway, not bothering to wait for me.
“I think it already has,” I muttered.
I kept my gaze on his broad shoulders, determinedly not looking at the guard’s broken body. He might have deserved it, and he probably would have done a whole lot worse to me, but it didn’t alter the fact that he was dead and that I’d played a part.
Somewhere deep inside, I couldn’t help wishing that neither Rainey nor I had started down this path.
And yet, if we hadn’t, there was no telling where this would end, or how many more draman and dragons would have to die before the people behind it were satisfied.
I followed Damon through the next door, into what turned out to be the bar’s main room. The front windows were blacked out, but four skylights allowed the fading sunlight to filter in. It wasn’t enough, leaving a room that was gloomy and reeking of smoke and alcohol. Modern artwork lined the grimy walls, and tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly around. A small dance floor had been squeezed into a far corner, but it was obvious that dancing wasn’t a priority here. The fourth wall was dominated by a long wooden bar, behind which were shelves lined with bottles and glasses.
Leon was stretched out on the bar, tape over his mouth and his hands tied by wiring that looped around his neck. A trick Damon was fond of, apparently.
He walked over toward the bar, his footsteps barely audible on the old wooden floor. Mine echoed, filling the silence.
Damon stopped in front of the man currently calling himself Jake and ripped the tape from his mouth. The swearing began instantly, and even though I’d heard it all before, my eyebrows rose. Leon had certainly become creative when it came to combining expletives.
I stopped several yards behind Damon, close enough to see what was going on but far enough to stay out of the way.