Mercy Burns (Myth and Magic 2)

I couldn’t keep this up forever, though, and even as I concentrated on channeling the energy that fed the life-giving flames, part of me was praying that my captors came to check on me sooner rather than later.

It seemed like an age before my prayers were answered, but, eventually, the scuffle of movement came from outside my prison. In my disconnected state, it seemed like they approached and then moved away again. Something creaked harshly, then the heat of two men flooded the darkness, hitting me with all the force of an express train.

I breathed deep, sucking in the scent of them, letting the heat radiating off them slither through me. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to fan the fires to life, but it was a start.

“She’d better not be a popsicle. I will not be happy if you’ve killed her.”

The voice was rich and arrogant and oh-so-familiar.

Seth.

The urge to open my eyes was almost overwhelming, but I resisted.

After expending so much energy on keeping warm, I probably wouldn’t be much of a threat to them, but if I could just get them a little closer, I might be able to steal a little of their heat. And I needed that heat. Needed it bad.

So I kept still, my eyes closed, and waited.

“She’s alive.” It was the voice I’d heard speaking to Ralph over the speaker. “You can see her breathing.”

They came closer, their footsteps echoing harshly in the boxed stillness. I desperately wanted to jump up and grab one of them, but again I restrained the urge, even though the effort left me trembling. I could only hope it wasn’t showing. They might not get too close if they realized just how alert I was.

The two men halted. Their scents hit me, filling each breath with musk, sunshine, and sage.

The sage was Seth. Even smelling it had an echo of pain slithering along the long-healed, S-shaped scar down my back.

But then, Seth had never really played on the same sane team as the rest of us. He was probably grinning like a madman right now at the mere thought of what all this cold was doing to me, and what memories it was bringing back.

“Wake her up,” he said, his voice as cold as the air I was breathing.

The other man grunted and stepped forward. The heat of him was fierce against my skin and the inner trembling grew. I needed—wanted—that warmth.

He reached out—something I felt rather than saw—and grabbed my shoulder, shaking me roughly. My hand shot out and I latched on to his arm, gripping him so tig

htly I swear his bones cracked. But the moment my fingers touched his flesh, the dragon within sprang to life, sweeping into his body, sucking at his flames and drawing them back into mine. It was a fierce and ugly attack, because I didn’t have much time.

He yelled—screamed—then his open hand smacked into the side of my face. My head snapped around and darkness loomed, but I held on grimly—both to consciousness and his arm.

He hit me again, this time harder, breaking my grip and leaving my cheek aching and my head ringing. I swear I heard a roar of anger within that ringing, but as I blinked back tears, it faded, leaving only a distant touch of thunder rolling through my mind.

Damon, I thought, for no particular reason.

And yet, if he knew what was going on, why hadn’t he come to rescue me? What the hell was he waiting for?

Answers?

That had to be it. He was a muerte, first and foremost, and his allegiance lay with the council, not to any one person and certainly not to me. Given the basic choice between saving me and getting answers, there was no choice.

I blinked back tears, not entirely sure whether they were from my aching cheek or the stark knowledge that I would never come first in Damon’s world, and opened my eyes.

“Well, well,” Seth said. “It seems our little draman was foxing us.”

He’d changed in the years since I’d last seen him. His nose was sharper, his cheeks more angular, and his body more muscular. He was obviously wearing contacts, because his eyes were blue instead of gray, and his hair had also changed—deep red rather than the dark gold he’d been born with. But the cold, unfeeling air that clung to him like a storm cloud was the same, as was the thin, straight set of his lips.

“I should have realized from the beginning that this insanity had your mark, Seth.”

God, it hurt to remember that I’d once foolishly thought—however briefly—that this dragon had actually liked me. Stupid is the only word that adequately describes it—although even I was human enough to be flattered by the attentions of a dragon who, at the time, had been one of the “popular” kids.

“I have to admit to a little disappointment that you didn’t catch on sooner.” He crossed his arms, allowing a brief glimpse of his left hand—a hand that was twisted and scarred. My work, and one of the main reasons for his hatred of me. The other was my refusal of his advances. Seth didn’t like to be told no. Of course, it was his inability to accept that word that had led to the scarring.