Mercy Burns

“Not until I saw that guy waiting outside, no.”

He shook his head, his dark gaze meeting mine briefly at the edge of the rearview mirror. “Stupid.”

Heat burned into my cheeks and sparks flickered briefly across my fingertips. I clenched my hand and tried to calm the annoyance. “I realize that now. I don’t need your admonishment on top of it.”

He grunted slightly, swung the car onto another street, then said, “What did you want to see me about?”

“I saw on the news that you’d been arrested—”

“Not arrested,” he corrected, and I swear there was humor in his voice, even though there was little emotion to be tasted on the air. “Just answering a few questions.”

“We both know that’s only one step from being arrested.” I paused. “Did you set that blaze?”

He contemplated me through the rearview mirror for a moment. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy enough to set a bar alight.” I studied his back and wondered if anyone could ever accurately tell what this man was thinking. I certainly couldn’t. Not at the moment, anyway. “But I don’t think you actually did.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Nice to know my fellow prisoner has a little faith in me.”

“I don’t have faith in anyone but my brother and Rainey.” And she was dead. I looked briefly out the window, wondering where we were going and realizing I didn’t really care, then added, “It’s a simple matter of facts. You were locked up for thirteen days without sunlight. Even with the heat you stole, I doubt you’d have been able to maintain enough fire to set that building alight.”

“There are other ways to light a fire, you know. Even dragons can use them.”

“Yeah, but you seem the type to want to do your own dirty work, right down to the flame that kills.”

His gaze met mine again, the dark depths of his eyes contemplative. “You seem to have formed a very quick opinion of someone you don’t really know.”

My smile held a bitter edge. “You have to where I come from. It can be the difference between gaining new scars or not.”

One dark eyebrow winged upward. “Surely a pretty woman like you wouldn’t have that many scars.”

I snorted softly. Death obviously needed glasses. I might be many things, but pretty wasn’t one of them. Not that I considered myself ugly. Just plain. Very plain. A brown dragon who couldn’t shift shape in a world filled with beasts who could shimmer and fly. “I’ve more scars than I have fingers.”

He frowned. “I saw the one on your forehead. What happened there?”

I reached up and touched the rapidly fading scar. “That one was courtesy of a recent run-in with a truck. The others were courtesy of my clique.”

“What in the hell goes on in your clique?”

There was an edge to his voice that had my eyebrows rising. It wasn’t concern, but it seemed very close to it, which was odd.

“Nothing much different from many others, I suspect.” I crossed my arms and looked out the window again. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Back to your brother’s place. You need to get some things together, then get the hell away from there.”

“I don’t really think—”

“Yeah, we discovered that.”

Annoyance flowed through me again. “You have a smart mouth for someone who was close to hibernation last night.”

“Good point.” He slowed the car as the lights ahead changed to red, then said, “Why were you coming to see me?”

I don’t really know. But I couldn’t admit that—or rather, I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to appear indecisive. Why, I had no idea. I mean, he was a stranger, and a rather odd one at that. “I want to know who those men were. I want to know who is pulling their strings.”

“And why would you think I’d know?”

“You know a hell of a lot more than you’re admitting, so enough of the games, Damon. I need to know what’s going on.”

He considered me briefly, then said, “Why is knowing so important to you?”

I hesitated, torn between the need to trust someone and a past that suggested men like him could never be counted on. “I’m a reporter.”

I didn’t need to see his grimace to feel the sweep of his disdain. “And you think you’re on the trail of an award-winning story? Lady, you have no idea.”

“If you keep saying that, I just might think you mean it.” I kept my voice deliberately light, masking both my growing irritation and perhaps a little hurt, which was stupid. Why should the opinion of this man carry so much weight? Why would I even let it?

“This is not something you should be sticking your pretty little nose into.” His voice was as cold as the look he cast my way. “These men are dangerous. I’m dangerous. You’d best get well away from us all.”

“Thanks for the warning but I’m afraid I can’t oblige.” I hesitated, then added softly, “There’s someone I need to save. To do that, I need answers.”

He didn’t reply, but his disapproval continued to sting the air. I stared out the windows. Obviously, this man had no intention of helping me out. I was stupid to think he ever would.

He turned right onto another street, slowing down as he slotted into the unusually heavy traffic. I realized we were about to pass my apartment and shifted to look out the window. Would any of the guards from last night be lurking around the front of the building? They had my driver’s license, after all, so they knew where I lived.

I didn’t see the guards. What I did see was flashing lights and dark plumes of smoke.

My apartment building was on fire.

Fire engines blocked the road ahead, and thick sprays of water were being directed up high. People huddled farther down the road, some crying, some wrapped in blankets, all of them looking shocked. Some of those faces I knew—my elderly neighbors. At least they’d gotten out. I hoped everyone else had, too.

My gaze went back to the flames leaping out high above from the top-floor windows.

My floor.

And it was a big fire—maybe too big. Had I been there, I might have been dead. I wasn’t, so I guess I had to be grateful for that. But everything would be gone.

Everything.

All the photos, all the little bits and pieces that I’d gathered over the years. Little things that had no value and wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to me they were reminders of good times—and there’d been few enough of those in my childhood.

Tears stung my eyes, and I clenched my fists against the urge to jump out of the car and race to the fire, to save something, anything, of my life and my past. But the flames were just too fierce and there were far too many firemen and cops. I’d never even get near the building, let alone close enough to suck in all that heat and fire in an attempt to quell it.

God, these bastards just kept destroying things I loved. It had to stop—and before I didn’t have anything left to destroy.

Of course, it was always possible the fire might have been accidental, but even as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. What were the odds of an accidental fire happening days after Rainey being killed and me being kidnapped?

I swiped at my eyes, then muttered, “I think I need cake. Thick, gooey chocolate cake.”

“What, now? Why?” Damon said, confusion evident in his voice as he eased the car’s speed.

“Because chocolate cake is a perfect pick-me-up when life decides to deal you one of those nasty little surprises.” My voice broke a little, and I took a deep, shuddering breath before adding, “That’s my building on fire.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s probably not a coincidence,” he said softly.