Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

His hesitation lasted a heartbeat too long. “Another of your kind.”

“My kind.”

“You know what I mean. It’s in your eyes.”

Golden eyes. He knows I’m a shape-shifter.

Of course, if his friend was a gargoyle, then it made sense he would know the signs that made a nonhuman stand out. But still, it felt like too much, too fast. The world was too mundane for this conversation.

Lyssa forced herself to breathe. “Does this person have a name?”

Eddie closed the distance between them. As he did, the air warmed. So much, it was like being exposed to the immense heat of a Southwest summer afternoon. A dry, rippling warmth, mirage-inducing.

Her own fire rose to meet that heat, with such power and hunger, she felt afraid all over again. She tried to read his face — as if her life depended on it. But all she could be certain of was that, for the first time in her life, she didn’t trust her instincts.

Because her instincts wanted to trust him. Her instincts picked apart the way he moved, the way he looked at her, the tone of his voice — his eyes, those eyes —and there was strength in his intensity — and compassion, and even gentleness.

She couldn’t trust it. She wouldn’t let herself.

Her mother’s voice drifted like a ghost through her mind.

You can tell everything from a man’s eyes, and the way he looks at you. If you’re not too afraid to see.

I was afraid when I met your father. He was too good to be true. So I ran, Lyssa.

It’s a good thing he followed.

The memory was so strong. Lyssa touched her throat, the scarf wound so tight she could barely breathe. Fire burned in her gut. Her right arm tingled.

Eddie’s gaze flicked to her hand. “Her name is Long Nu.”

For a moment, the name didn’t register. But it sat there, the sound of it ringing through her head. Slowly, so slowly. . her mind made the connection.

And it was horrible. Terrible, and confusing.

“It’s been ten years since I heard that name.” Lyssa’s voice shook, nerves betraying her. More rattled than she wanted to admit.

Eddie gave her a cautious look. “You don’t seem happy about it.”

Again, she wanted to laugh, but it would have sounded awful. “She knows you’re here?”

“She was one of the people who asked me to come.”

Fury gathered in her chest. “ She’s your employer?”

“No,” he said firmly. “This was a favor.”

“There are no favors with Long Nu. You do or you die. . and if you don’t die, you’re punished.” Lyssa backed away, wetting her lips. “Why now, after all these years? Why not before, when I was a child? I needed help then, and no one came for me.”

“My impression was Long Nu thought you were dead.”

“Wishful thinking,” she whispered. “She’s probably disappointed I’m not.”

Eddie gave her a sharp look. “What does that mean?”

Lyssa shook her head and realized she was hugging herself. Hearing Long Nu’s name should not have upset her as much as it did.

But it opened old wounds. It made her think of her father.

Straightening, she lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “Did Estefan know about Long Nu?”

He watched her, so carefully. “I don’t think so. My employer was the one who contacted her after receiving your friend’s letter.”

“What did Long Nu tell you about me?”

“Not enough.” Eddie reached, very slowly, inside his pocket — and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside was something charred. “This is yours.”

Lyssa didn’t touch it. “What is it?”

“A photo of you when you were twelve.”

She blinked, startled. He held up the bag. Inside, she saw a fragment of her face. Young and smiling. Before it all went to hell.

Her right hand clenched into a fist, claws biting through the tips of her gloves into her palm. “Did Long Nu give you that?”

“Yes.”

Sorrow burned away into anger. “How dare she.”

“What happened?”

“None of your business.” Lyssa backed away, that glimpse of her young face burning a hole through her heart. “We’re done here. Get away from me.”

Eddie’s mouth hardened, and in one long stride he stood inside her personal space. Suddenly, he seemed so much larger than her — strong and big, and powerful — bristling with a heat that seemed to shimmer over his body. It took all of Lyssa’s strength not to retreat.

“Back off,” she snapped.

His eyes were so dark. “No.”

No. It was impossible that one word should be laced with so much determination.

“I will kick your ass to Sunday,” she told him.

He leaned in even more. “You try. Beat me black-and-blue, if that makes you feel better. I’m not going anywhere. I was sent to find you. To protect you. And you better believe I will do that. You run, and I will find you. Again, and again, and again.”

She believed him. And it enraged her.

Ten years on her own, ten years alone, and while some of that time had been shit, she’d made it — and hammered out a life with her own two hands, a life that was quick and dirty, but hers.

And now this man, a stranger, was telling her that he was in her life ?

And Long Nu was involved?

No, she thought. No way. Not in a million years was Lyssa going to let that stand. It would be like spitting on her father’s memory. All the humiliations, his isolation, his sacrifice.

Because Long Nu had thrown them to the wolves.

“Get away from me,” she growled.

“No,” he said again, and there was more quiet power in that one word than in any other she’d ever heard.

She backed away. Eddie followed. She turned, and he stayed right on her heels, terrible heat flowing down her back.

“Lyssa,” he said, reaching for her.

She whirled, lashing out with her first: a solid right hook that snapped toward his face. Fast, driven by arm muscles deformed with power.

Eddie blocked her. Barely. Her fist clipped his ear, but he twisted, and clamped his hand around her wrist. She grabbed his throat, but not before his hand slid forward, beneath her sleeve — and touched her bare, reptilian, skin.

The contact burned. Burned to the bone.

Lyssa flinched. So did he. A roaring sound filled her ears, and her vision brightened in a haze of golden light. She tried to let go, but her hand around his throat would not loosen, no matter how hard she tried. The world blurred away in the light until all she could see was Eddie’s eyes.

He was looking at her. . not with fear. . but that quiet, deadly compassion.

I understand, she heard him say inside her mind. I’m sorry.

Smoke rose from beneath her hand.

Everything exploded.

Eddie knew it was a mistake the moment he touched Lyssa.

Because he was irritated when he caught her wrist — and it didn’t matter that she had tried to punch him. He had laid a hand on her, with frustration, annoyance — and it was too close to anger for comfort.

Too close to his worst nightmare.

So Eddie didn’t fight when she grabbed his throat. He went still, staring into her glowing golden eyes, taking in her anger and knowing it was fear. The same fear he had felt for years on the street: cornered, forced to look strangers in the eyes and hope it would be okay, without knowing whether or not it would be.

I understand, he wanted to tell her. I’m sorry.

A thought that was followed by fire.

When he could see again, when the world stopped spinning, and the heat inside him was nothing but a matchstick, burning — he blinked away tears and found there was nothing left but smoke clouding the air.