Mercy Burns

up. The screen went white and tiny little icons jigged about happily.

Again bile burned the back of my throat. I swallowed heavily and hit a button. Another screen flashed up, but I couldn’t read it. The characters were just a blur.

Then my fingers lost their strength and the phone hit the ground. Before I could grab it, a passerby kicked it away. It skidded off the pavement and into the path of a car. The wheels squashed it flat.

Fuck.

I needed help and I needed it fast. I tried to grab at someone as they passed, but it felt like my limbs were trapped in treacle, and I was unable to complete the motion. The movement unbalanced me and I went down hard while the person strode on, oblivious. Pain radiated from both my knee and my barely healed side—red-hot pokers that did little to clear the fog.

“Are you all right, lass?” someone said Angus.

“What?” It came out croaky, and I licked dry lips. “What have you done?”

“What I had to do,” he said, and I swear there was a note of sorrow in his voice. “Give me your hand.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He sighed and grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. I reached down, deep into the part of me that was dragon, and called to the fire. But for the first time in my life, she didn’t answer. She was as drugged and confused as the rest of me, and even the flames in my soul seemed dimmer.

Fear swept through me. God, what had he done?

I tried to hit him, but my fist swished through thin air and unbalanced me even more. And then unconsciousness claimed me once again.

Chapter Three

Voices invaded the darkness.

Voices that were gruff one moment, and oddly urbane the next. One was far stronger than the other, but together they formed a chorus that made no actual sense. What they were saying remained tantalizingly beyond my reach, swimming in a thick soup of incomprehensibility.

But as my thoughts traveled slowly toward consciousness, the rhythm of speech and the words became things I could grasp and understand.

The stronger of the voices belonged to Angus. The other one—although almost tinny in its tones—was vaguely familiar. A ghost from the past I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

And whoever he was, he had no smell. The only person who seemed to be here—wherever the hell here was—besides me was Angus, which meant he was probably talking on the phone.

“For the third and final time, yes, I’m sure it’s her.”

There was a distinct edge riding through Angus’s gruff tones and it had confusion swirling. It spoke of anger and hate, but that made no sense if Angus was working for the men behind all this.

He continued. “And no, I didn’t see her stain, because she refused to show it. But it’s her. Aside from the scar from the accident your man botched, she matched the picture you sent me perfectly.”

Oh God, the other man had arranged the truck accident. Which meant that I was close to finding out who he was. If I survived whatever they currently had planned for me, that is.

But if they were going to kill me, why drug me first? They’d certainly shown no compunction about trying to kill me before, so why hesitate now? Or was that what waited for me once these men finished talking?

Fear rose, then drifted away. And suddenly, being drugged seemed like a good thing.

“She won’t be restrained by darkness. The bitch never could be.” The familiar voice held a hint of sophistication that came with money and a cultured upbringing, which was odd because I really didn’t know anyone who matched either of those criteria.

Yet there was something about the voice that chilled me.

It was a voice that held no sense of life, no sense of compassion. Just a cold determination to do what had to be done. Once upon a time I’d known a man like that. It was he who’d given me my scars, and he’d made my teenage years hell.

Of course, there were some who said I’d deserved it. I’d struck back and disfigured him—something few half-breeds ever had the skill or the gumption to do.

But this couldn’t be him. Aside from the fact that Seth had apparently died in an accident, there’d never been anything cultured about his manner or his tone.

Although it still sounded like him.

“The drug will keep her out for twenty-four hours. At least.” Was I imagining it, or was the edge I sensed in Angus’s voice filled with bitterness? He sure didn’t sound like a willing henchman, but maybe the fact that my mind seemed to be drifting a layer or two below true wakefulness was affecting my perceptions. Especially given the sense of wrongness I’d been getting about Angus in the bar.

“Trust me, the bitch can never be relied on to do the expected. Throw her in the box with the muerte. If he can’t get out, no one can.” He hesitated, and a hint of cold amusement came into his voice. “And it’ll have the side benefit of bringing back some very delicious memories for her.”

Confusion rolled through me. The man I was remembering hadn’t known me in that way. Oh, he’d wanted to, hence his scars and, subsequently, mine. So why would he imply otherwise?

Angus merely grunted. It wasn’t a happy sound.

“Evan will warn us if anybody comes looking for her, won’t he?” the urbane man added.

Evan? Not a name I knew, but one I could file away for later.

If there was a later.

“That’s what we pay him for.” Again, that bitterness. It just didn’t jell with a man who was only doing his job.

“Good,” the urbane man continued. “Tell Albert and Jay I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

“Will do.”

“And tell them to keep an eye on that fucking muerte. Just because he’s flamed out doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”

“If he’s such a problem, then why don’t you just kill the bastard?”

“Because we need to know who set him on to us. The order didn’t come from the council as a whole, but someone on the council must suspect. Muerte rarely move without orders.”

Angus grunted. A second later there was a soft beep, then a clunk, as if something light had hit a seat. The phone, probably.

God, I’d have to find some way to escape before his planned rendezvous tomorrow night. Whoever he might have been in my past, this was the man who’d ordered the hit on Rainey, and I had no doubt he planned to do the same to me. I might need to kill him to free Rainey’s soul, but even in my confused state, I had little hope that he’d face me alone. One full dragon I could cope with. Two was out of my league.

And I needed to survive the encounter to perform the ceremony that would free Rainey.

The throaty roar of an engine invaded the brief silence and the metal flooring underneath me began to vibrate. I was in a van, obviously, but the knowledge did me little good. I remained as I was, caught between consciousness and oblivion, struggling against the odd lethargy that held my body so still. I wished I could do something, anything, to fight these men, but my body remained frozen and unresponsive. Sound was my only ally, and even that was distant, the rumble of the van consuming all other noises. Angus might be at the wheel, but he was as quiet as death.

I’m not sure how long we drove but, in my disconnected state, it seemed to be for only a few minutes. The rumble and vibration of the van stopped and sweet silence filled the void. Then a door slammed, another opened, and hands were grabbing me, hauling me roughly along the metal flooring until I was flung like a sack over the shoulder of someone who smelled like sea and smoke.

The urge to fight, to kick and scream and run, swept through me again. But as hard as I tried to make my muscles respond, they wouldn’t. Just like the dragon deep within.

What the hell had they given me?