Mercy Burns

Waking was a slow and painful business. My head felt as if it were stuck in the middle of two bass drums, and the reverberations were making my eyes water. The rest of me fared no better—it felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Again.

Add to that the fact that my flesh was so cold my fingers and toes were aching from it, and you had one big bundle of misery.

It was that factor, more than anything else, that had awareness surging. Why was I so damn cold? It was a hot day and I was draman. There was no way I should have been this cold.

I forced my eyelids open. Darkness greeted me. Darkness and air so cold every breath hurt.

Memories surged, reminding me of another time when the darkness had been all-encompassing and the air so cold it could freeze the insides.

I was in another freezer.

Oh, fuck.

I closed my eyes against the surge of panic. I wasn’t alone. Rainey might not be here to rescue me this time, but Damon was. He’d come. He wouldn’t let me freeze.

I just had to wait. I just had to remain calm. I gulped down several freezing breaths, then forced myself upright. My fingers stuck to the shelf and, as I tore them away, left flesh behind.

I swore and reached for my flames.

To find nothing but ashes.

It was a realization that hit like a punch to the gut. For several seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. Panic rolled through me, and it was all I could do not to start screaming. I’d only survived last time thanks to my flames; without them, I was dead.

No. I won’t die. I won’t let him win. He didn’t last time and he wouldn’t now. My flames had been stolen, not destroyed. The dragon still lay deep inside; she was slumbering, not gone forever.

She would recover, albeit slowly.

Damn it, I had to get out of this freezer.

I rubbed my arms to get some blood flowing back into my limbs, glad that my captors had at least left me fully clothed. I might not have woken otherwise.

My fingertips began tingling—stinging—which at least chased away the numbness. I thrust upright, but my feet felt like lead and I almost fell over again. I stamped them hard and wriggled my toes to get some blood flowing. After a few minutes, they came back to aching life. I raised my arms, sweeping ahead of me as I walked carefully forward. Three steps, and I hit a wall. I followed it along, feeling with my fingertips and wishing I could see something, anything. But the damn fridge was darker than night, and if there was a door then it was well and truly sealed.

I found a shelf, the metal as cold as the rest of this place, and felt along it. Plastic-wrapped packages and various-size boxes were stacked in what felt like an orderly arrangement. I continued along and found the junction of the walls. Following the second one soon had me touching rubber, then a door release. Relief slithered through me, and it wasn’t cold that had my fingers trembling as I hit the emergency release mechanism.

Only nothing happened. The door remained firmly closed.

God, no.

I hit it again, with the same result. The fear and panic rose again and I hit the door as hard as I could, needing to get out of this icy hellhole. And then I hit it again, and again, and again, until the door was dented, my knuckles were bleeding, and the pain was so bad that common sense crawled over the panic and I regained control.

Hitting the door wasn’t going to get me out of here, and the sooner I accepted that and concentrated on surviving, the better off I’d be.

Seth might want me dead, but Hannish wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until they knew what I knew and who I’d talked to. I had to believe that. Angus had said as much, and I had no doubt it was as true now as it was then.

So, this chill was merely their way of insuring I was kept scared and helpless. My past aside, dragons, darkness, and chill was not a good combination. Under normal circumstances, it would render any one of us helpless.

But my flames had been my only major defense for more years than I could even remember, and while my brother had taught me to fight, that skill had come later in life, after I’d learned control over my fire. And while even I couldn’t totally refuel myself in this kind of hell, I could keep myself alive longer than most.

I just had to stave off panic and think.

I felt my way back to the little metal bench and sat down. The chill wrapped around me but I ignored it, closing my eyes and reaching deep within to the embers of the dragon. She was my heart, my soul, and she could warm me, even in this state. All I had to do was channel energy back into her, feeding the flames and directing the heat of them outward to my extremities, keeping the dangerous cold at bay.

It took a while, but gradually the embers began to burn brighter, and the heat—though nowhere near even quarter strength—slithered through my body, chasing the cold from my fingers, making my toes ache with renewed life.

Enough to keep me awake.

Enough to keep me alive.

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 tightly 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