Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

But even as that thought passed through her, the prickling in her skin intensified, accompanied by a crawling sensation on the back of her neck. Like spider legs.

Someone was watching her.

Lyssa turned, and found herself face-to-face with the man.

The man from her dreams.

Everything stopped. Heart, lungs, the world. Sounds died. Lyssa went numb.

Those eyes.

In all her dreams — a month of nights, lost in fire — those eyes had been her constant companions. Eyes that belonged to a face she could never see, or remember. Eyes that stared at her with an intensity that burned and made her feel lost, dizzy, as though she were falling.

She was falling now.

Lyssa blinked, and the spell broke. No longer just eyes, but the man from Columbus Circle. She hadn’t looked closely at him, before.

He was young, which surprised her. When she looked at only his eyes, she thought of him as old.

Instead, he seemed close to her age. He was tall, but not much taller than she. Lean, lanky, but broad in all the right places. He looked strong, fast. Dressed in black, with scruffy dark hair that framed a pale, chiseled face that would never be called boyish or weak.

I know you, she thought. I dreamed you.

But that was no comfort. Terrible heat burned beneath her skin, flowing into her right arm in a wild, uncontrolled rush that made her clawed hand close into a fist. Pain tingled, simmering in that heat, and the muscles running from her neck into her shoulder twitched so violently she sucked in her breath and gripped her shoulder hard with her left hand.

The dragon stirred beneath her skin.

The dragon opened an eye within her heart and looked at the man in front of her.

Lyssa felt it, as though she carried a second life within herself. Terror fluttered. The dragon could not be allowed to wake. Not here. Not ever. It had been years since she had felt its presence.

She backed away. The man followed, holding up his hands. “Miss. Don’t run. Please.”

His voice was soft but filled with a quiet, gentle strength that tugged at her heart. It was the same voice she had heard in her mind, flowing through her with the most intimate of touches.

I would take care of you. I wish I could.

Lyssa didn’t trust her voice to speak. Every instinct told her to run. Running was what she knew. Running was safe and empty, and kept the fire at bay, and all those dark memories that haunted, and tempted her.

This was dangerous. This man was dangerous, even if he meant her no harm. The harm would come, somehow.

Lyssa gave him a long, searching look. He let her look, though he didn’t make it easy. She was used to studying people from a distance, or while distracted. . anytime, anywhere, so long as no one realized what she was doing.

But she didn’t have that luxury with him. He stared back with unflinching eyes, as though taking her measure as much as she was taking his. There was no place to hide in that gaze. Lyssa had never felt more naked.

“Who are you?” she asked.

His jaw tensed. “My name is Eddie.”

Eddie. A scruffy name, with an edge. Sort of like him.

Lyssa backed away, wary. “How did you find me here?”

He did not follow, but she sensed that if he wanted to, he could be at her side in a heartbeat. He was just like her dream. Intense, dangerous, and real.

Completely real. Flesh and blood, staring at her as though he was ready for her to try and slip away. It unnerved her. Made her feel as though she couldn’t trust her own perceptions of dream and waking.

“Estefan sent a list of places to search for you,” he said quietly, holding her gaze. “That Starbucks behind us was one of them. He said you like to use the Internet there.”

Damn, she thought, giving him a sharp look. “How do you know Estefan?”

Discomfort flickered in his eyes. “I don’t. Your friend sent a letter to my employer. He explained you needed help. So I’m here. To help.”

It sounded too good to be true. Who was he, a Boy Scout? Like those existed anymore. Lyssa had seen too many good people who needed help, shut out and ignored, treated as though invisible — simply for being homeless, or a little different. Even she, at her lowest, had been an untouchable. Except from those who wanted to use her.

“Estefan shouldn’t have gotten you involved,” she said, wondering why she was still standing here.

“Miss—”

“I am none of your concern.”

“You need help.”

“Starving kids in Africa need help. I don’t. Not even a little.”

He studied her — as though actually listening to what she was saying and digesting each word. It set her off-balance. Again.

Frustration warred with curiosity, and a bone-deep need to understand why the hell this man had been in her dreams. Had he dreamed of her ? The possibility was almost as unsettling as his presence.

“You really came here because you were told I needed help?” she asked him, and what was intended to be a genuine question turned derisive when her voice came out too sharp. “Is that your job? Do-gooder?”

His brow lifted. “What’s your job? Professional cynic?”

Her mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

“That’s too bad,” he said, then, more softly, “Lyssa.”

She was not expecting the sincerity of that answer, or the regret in his voice. Nor could she have predicted what hearing him say her name would do to her nerves.

Like, electrifying them.

I had peace and quiet, she thought, weakly. I was alone, but that was safe.

“Eddie,” she said, feeling like a coward for not being able to stare as unflinchingly into his eyes, as he could hers. “Go home.”

Lyssa pushed through the crowd and walked away.

She turned left at the intersection, walking with long, ground-eating strides. Not running, but almost. A cab passed her but didn’t stop when she held out her hand.

Moments later, Eddie caught up.

He remained opposite her on the sidewalk, lanky and graceful. Outwardly relaxed though she sensed a coiled power inside him — and a tense control over that power that gave him a dangerous edge.

Light foot traffic passed between them. She heard an ambulance’s sirens. Maybe the police. None of it felt real. Not the people around them, not the wind on her face, not even the concrete beneath her feet.

Her world had narrowed down to him — and only him.

“Lyssa Andreanos,” he said, quietly.

She hadn’t heard her full name spoken out loud in ten years. Hearing him say it made her feel crazy. “Did Estefan tell you that, too?”

“First, from him,” he replied, with a calm confidence that was assured, and, oddly, gentle.

She shivered. “Estefan shouldn’t have told anyone.”

“He made it clear he was violating your trust. But he didn’t see another way to help you.”

In two seconds, frustration was going to become anger. “I told you, I don’t need help. So just. . get lost.”

“I can’t.” Eddie settled his gaze on her. “You’re being hunted.”

Lyssa stopped and stared at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke with a grim gentleness that she’d never heard in another man’s voice.

“Hunted,” he said again, “by witches who call themselves the Cruor Venator. ”

Her heart squeezed down into a vicious lump of pain, and she drew an unsteady breath that was loud and rough, and made her dizzy.

“Not even Estefan knows that,” she said, hoarse. “Certainly not that name.”

“You already knew they’re looking for you?”

She exhaled sharply, wanting to laugh with devastating bitterness. “Of course. But who told you ?”