Mercy Burns

“Because you are neither cold nor unfeeling, Damon, and sooner or later someone will break through that wall you’ve raised around your heart.”

“I come from a long line of muerte who lost their heads, not their hearts. I expect to be no different.”

“Then you’re selling yourself short. You are not your forefathers.”

“And you,” he said gently, “are reading entirely too much into my actions. I will not fall, Mercy, no matter how great the attraction between us.”

I snorted derisively. “Oh, never fear, I have no illusions when it comes to you and me. You’ve expressed your views well enough when it comes to draman and their usefulness.”

“It’s not because you’re draman.” He reached out and wrapped his hands around mine, squeezing lightly. “I don’t see you as draman. I don’t think I ever have, which is why I was so surprised when you told me you were.”

“That’s not the point—”

“But it is. I won’t have you believing something that isn’t true.”

“Then what is your great truth?” I muttered, suddenly wishing I hadn’t gotten into this whole subject. It didn’t really matter which of us was right, because there was one truth that wasn’t going to change. The magic we’d felt every time we came together—the intimacy and the possibilities—would not be explored once this case was solved. No matter what, he would walk away, and it would probably hurt a whole lot more then than the thought did now.

Because no matter what he said, there was something between us. Something that was worth exploring.

“You were afraid today when you saw that car, weren’t you?”

I frowned. “Of course, but—”

“Well,” he continued relentlessly, “imagine living with that sort of fear daily. Imagine living with me and not knowing at the end of each day whether I’d walk in the door at the end of it.”

“If you love someone, you love the whole of them. And that includes what they are and what they do.”

“It’s easy to say that when you’re not living the situation day in, day out.”

“People do.”

“Yes, and lots of marriages break up over it, too. That’s a statistical fact.”

“The difference between your statistics and what we’re discussing here is two simple words— soul mate. When you meet her, Damon, your dragon will not let her go.”

When it came to dragons, that was the truth—and yet not the whole truth. A dragon male might meet his soul mate, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had to settle down and make a commitment to her. My clique’s king was living proof of that. He kept his queen by his side but he refused to commit to her, and continued to breed with other women whenever the whim took him. I couldn’t actually complain about that, because if not for our king’s philandering ways, my brother would not exist. And Trae was the one thing in my life that I couldn’t do without. He wasn’t only my brother, but my savior. I wouldn’t be here today if he hadn’t saved me all those years ago when one of his idiot half-brothers had decided I’d needed to learn to fly. Which is how I’d gotten one of those damn scars— Trae had misjudged his claw position as he’d swooped from the sky to grab me, inches from the rocks.

“How do you know I haven’t already met my soul mate?” Damon asked gently. “How do you know I haven’t already walked away from her?”

Because you wouldn’t be responding to me the way you are if you’d already met your soul mate. But I kept the words inside, and simply said, “If you have, then you are a fool. And I don’t believe you are.”

His smile was wry. “That’s another of your snap judgments.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Only partially.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re admitting to being a fool?”

“No.”

“Then what are you admitting?”

He glanced at me, his face like granite. It’d be easier to read a rock than try to catch this man’s thoughts and emotions. “Right now?” he said. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, believing that,” I muttered.

“Let’s just enjoy what we have, Mercy, and be grateful for it.”

Grateful could take a long, flying leap off the nearest cliff, I thought, but I was saved from actually having to say anything by the ringing of my phone.

“Well, I found the owner of Deca Dent for you,” Leith said, the minute I hit the receive button. I didn’t bother putting it on speaker—Damon had already proven that he could hear the other side of a phone conversation. “And it’s owned by Hannish Valorn. I’ve e-mailed you some pics and the file with the information, but there’s not a lot.”

“Why not?”

“Because dragons are notoriously closed-mouthed when it comes to talking about their own. I can tell you he only got back into the country a few months ago, and took over ownership of the club almost immediately.”

“So he owns it legally?”

“Yep. I had one of the boys track down the paperwork. The club itself is a known haunt for lowlifes, which makes it a rather odd acquisition for the only son of a dragon king. I tried to find out more about Hannish,” Leith said, “but the grapevine is amazingly quiet. We’re doing an overseas search to see if we can find anything there, but it’s probably going to take time.”

Everything about this case seemed to. “But there’s nothing you can uncover to suggest he’s involved in anything nefarious?”

“No. But that also means there’s nothing to say he’s not, as well.” He paused, and tapped some keys, meaning he was still at the office, because he generally refused to work at home. “The club isn’t run by Hannish, though. It appears he has a manager—a fellow by the name of Franco Harkin, a draman from your clique. There’s also a Jake Whilde working there. I can’t find a picture or very much information about Harkin, but both men appear to have come into the country with Hannish.”

“If they came into the country with Hannish, then they have to have passports.”

“Obviously, but they’re either overseas ones or they have them under other names.”

“Is that even possible in this day and age?”

“Anything is possible if you know the right people, Mercy.”

I guess so.

Leith continued, “About the only bit of gossip I could gather was the fact that Hannish and his dad had a serious falling-out about ten years ago, and they haven’t seen each other since. Oh, and one guy commented that Hannish was out to get his dad.”

“ ‘Get’ as in kill?”

“I’m not sure. When I asked him to clarify, he just shrugged. I think he was too scared to admit anything more.”

“Well, if Hannish is behind the cleansings, then he had a right to be wary.” I shivered as the memories of the truck hitting us rose again, but shoved them aside and said, “Is that all?”

“Yes. But I’m digging into the council’s records to see if I can find anything there.”

Surprise rippled across Damon’s features. “How are you accessing the council’s records? The security around them is supposedly watertight.”

“Nothing is watertight where a sea dragon is concerned.” Leith’s voice was amused. “Especially when the security involved is over a year old. Your council needs a serious update.”

“I’ll tell them.” Damon’s voice was grim.

“Please do,” Leith commented cheerfully. “And if you want a recommendation, I can give you several names.”

“No doubt friends of yours who can be pressured for passwords.”

“I don’t need passwords, my friend.”