Mercy Burns (Myth and Magic 2)

Air hissed out between clenched teeth. “You could have mentioned it.”

“Why on earth would I think to mention something like that?”

“Because dragons have olfactory senses as sharp as any bloodhound. He might not have recognized you by sight, but he would have recognized your scent.”

“Well, no one ever thought to mention that to me.”

“But you grew up in a clique. It’s something you should damn well know!”

“I’m a fucking draman. I don’t know anything.”

He gave me a disbelieving look and marched on toward the elevator. I ripped my elbow free of his grip, but continued to walk beside him. It wasn’t like I had a lot of other options right now. If I called Leith, he’d come running all right, but he’d probably tie me up and start investigating by himself. I’d already lost one good friend to these thugs. I didn’t plan to lose another.

“Stay behind me,” Damon said as the elevator came to a bumpy stop on the fifth and the doors swished open.

I did as ordered, following his long strides across the oil-stained concrete. His car was parked on the opposite side of the garage from the elevators and the stairs, in a position that wasn’t immediately visible from either. There were no other cars parked near it and no one around.

He relaxed a little, then glanced over his shoulder at me. “Lose the wig. We need to give you a new look.”

I placed the handbag beside me, then pulled off the wig and tossed it into the trunk once he’d opened it. “What’s the point if that guard has my scent and can track me down regardless of the disguise I’m wearing?”

“There are ways around the scent problem.” He ferreted through several bags, then pulled one free with a grunt of satisfaction. “Get undressed.”

“What?”

He glanced at me, and even in the dusky confines of the garage, the devilish glint in his dark eyes was all too evident. “Suddenly bashful?”

“No.” Though I was. Dragons normally weren’t, of course, but then, I wasn’t full dragon and I really didn’t want to expose my body—and my scars—to this man’s critical gaze. It might have been different if it was night and I had the illusion of privacy, but in this dusky daylight, everything was far too visible. “I just want to know what you plan to do.”

“I plan to temporarily get rid of your scent. Now, strip.” He pulled out a plastic spray bottle filled with a lemony-looking liquid, then tossed the bag back into the trunk. After glancing rather pointedly at his watch, he added, “We haven’t got all day. Not if you want to catch this Angus person.”

“This isn’t exactly a private area,” I said, the heat of embarrassment growing in my cheeks. “And stripping could definitely attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“The cameras can’t see us here, and we’re also out of visual range of anyone who comes out of the elevators or stairs—facts you’re more than aware of.” Then he gave me the ghost of a smile that had my face flaming hotter. “What if I promise to turn around until you’re naked?”

“Fine. Turn around,” I muttered, wondering how the hell I was going to stop the blush from rolling right down to my toes.

He turned, although his amusement spun all around me, heating my ski

n more than his gaze ever could.

I hurriedly undressed, stacking my clothes on the car’s roof before crossing my arms across my breasts and turning my back to him. “Okay, I’m naked.”

A heartbeat later I realized just how wrong I’d been before. His gaze could warm me far more than any emotion riding the air. The weight of it burned by skin, making my spine tingle and my pulse flutter.

“You weren’t kidding about the scars, were you?” His voice was cool and controlled, and it jarred against the hint of anger that stirred the air.

It was almost as if he were fighting for control.

But if Death didn’t like the scars, then why didn’t he—and the council he worked for—do something to make the situation for draman more bearable? Yet even as that thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. We were draman. In the scheme of things, we didn’t matter.

I shivered a little, and knew it didn’t have a whole lot to do with the gathering coolness. “Why would you think I’d joke about something like that?”

Though I heard no sound of movement, his finger suddenly touched my skin, trailing heat as he traced the S-shaped scar along my right side. “This one’s nasty.”

His finger stalled at the knotty end of the scar, and the heat of it spread across my butt, making me ache. I fought the urge to press back into his touch and said, in a voice that sounded amazingly calm, “It’s retribution from someone I wouldn’t sleep with.”

“The man who did this wanted to sleep with you?” A note of incredulity had crept into his otherwise controlled tone. “That’s not exactly the most convincing way to seduce a reluctant partner.”