“My name is Mercy Reynolds.” Then I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell him. But really, what was the point of hiding anything? It wasn’t like I actually knew anything vital. “And I was asking about two cleansed towns and missing draman.”

“So was I.”

“Then obviously someone doesn’t want those questions asked.” That was a point I was all too aware of already. I looked at the door and ignored the tendrils of pain and anger that rose with the thought. “What’s the melting point of steel?”

“I have no idea.”

I found myself grinning. “So Mr. Death doesn’t know everything?”

“It’s Damon—Damon Rey—not Death. And why would you want to know the melting point of steel? You think you can melt the door with your flames?”

His tone gently mocked and I met his gaze with a frown. “You think I can’t?”

“Dragon fire is fierce, granted, but it’s not concentrated enough to generate the sort of heat needed to melt that door. It’s flameproof, like the walls.”

Meaning he’d tried when he’d first arrived, obviously. “But I don’t want to melt the door. I just want to heat the bolt enough so that it’s pliable. Then we should be able to push it open.”

“It still needs a concentrated heat.”

That, I could do. Fire had been my only defense for a good part of my life, and I’d learned pretty quickly to make the most of it. Not even the dragons in my clique had my control—which didn’t mean I was right and this man was wrong.

“So you did try to flame the door when you were first thrown in here?”

“Once, and they’ve pretty much kept me drugged since then. By the time they woke me to question me, I was sunshine-starved and had flamed out.”

“So how long have you actually been in here?”

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“And the date?”

“April fourth.”

He swore softly under his breath. I raised my eyebrows. “Is that bad?”

His gaze came to mine again, dark eyes intense. Angry. And though that anger wasn’t aimed at me, it was a frightening thing to behold.

“It means that I’ve been here for thirteen days.”

Thirteen days? Without sunlight? Angus might not have been impressed, but I sure was. Most dragons could survive four or five days without sunlight, but to go thirteen—and still be lucid—took amazing strength.

“Are you going to be strong enough to handle those men if I can get us out of here?”

There was nothing pleasant or warm about his smile or the sudden glint in his cold, dark eyes. “You get us out of this room and I’ll make sure we get free.”

I believed him. It was impossible not to. Even so, I couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Death himself might be more of a problem once we’d gotten out of here than the men upstairs.

But what other option did I have? There was only one thing that was certain—I didn’t want to be here when that well-cultured man came back. One look at the mess Damon was in suggested their methods of getting information weren’t ones I’d enjoy.

As if there’d ever been any doubt of that.

So I said, “Can you sense anyone nearby?”

“You really are going to try to melt the bolt, aren’t you?”

Annoyance ran through me. “You got a better idea?”

Tags: Keri Arthur Myth and Magic Paranormal
Source: readsnovelonline.net