Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

He had lived as a thief on the streets of Los Angeles.

Lyssa Andreanos was just one more challenge.

She looked down at her torn, charred jeans, little more than rags covering her soot-covered legs. Eddie remembered her backpack and slid it off his shoulder onto the bed. When Lyssa saw it, she let go of the jacket just long enough to touch the blackened, burned canvas.

Some tension left her shoulders. “Where am I?”

“The home of a friend. The. . gargoyle.”

Her reaction was unexpected. Eddie saw surprise in her eyes, followed by grief — and a heartbreaking longing that disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.

She lowered her head until her hair fell around her face, and he could barely see her. “I need to go. You shouldn’t have brought me here.”

She tried to stand, but her knees buckled again. Eddie let out his breath and went to her. Her hand shot up, and the look she gave him was angry and fearful. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then don’t fall,” he shot back. “You need rest.”

“I need to get out of here,” she muttered, but trying to stand a third time was no better, and he grabbed her waist before she could fall. He half expected her to hit him, but all she did was stiffen and make a muffled sound of protest.

Her body was slender and soft, and warm. Her scent, smoky and sweet. Eddie’s nose brushed against her hair, and a deep need sparked inside him, an ache that felt too much like being adrift, lost, homesick.

A need that he knew, in his gut, this woman could ease.

His reaction, and the thought that accompanied it, stunned him. He tried to let her go, but his hands tightened before he could stop them, and it took all his willpower to merely help her sit — instead of pulling her even closer.

When he did finally loosen his hands, and step back — he felt hot, light-headed. Lyssa was not looking at him. Her shoulders sagged inside his oversized jacket as she braced her left hand on the covers. She seemed to be breathing hard. But so was he.

Distance. He needed distance to clear his head. Eddie went to the wardrobe. He didn’t know whose room this was, but it looked feminine enough to have something around she could wear. His sister — and mother — had always filled every closet in the house with their things, even in rooms that didn’t belong to them.

He found summer dresses hanging inside, alongside purses and frilly cardigans. Behind him, Lyssa said, “Who else lives here?”

“My friend’s wife. I don’t know who else.”

“A gargoyle doesn’t wear those clothes.”

“She’s human.” Nothing in here was going to work. It was all short sleeves and gaping necklines. Eddie closed the wardrobe door. “You’re going to need something. . warmer.”

Lyssa tried to stand again, and this time stayed upright. She swung the backpack over her shoulder and winced. “I don’t feel the cold.”

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“I can help you.”

Lyssa shook her head and moved unsteadily to the door. Eddie crossed the room and planted himself in front of her. She shot him a deadly look, which he easily ignored.

“What happened, with the fire,” he told her. “If nothing else, I can help you with that. ”

Distrust filled her eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

Anger flared, unexpected and hot. He couldn’t push it down. After a moment, he stopped trying.

“I’m not a liar,” he said in a deadly soft voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Lyssa shivered.

That — and the sudden uncertainty in her eyes — made his anger flash away as quickly as it had arrived.

She gets under my skin, he thought, wondering what the hell was wrong, that he couldn’t control his emotions with her around.

Bottled up was safe. He needed to stay safe. For her.

No anger means no pain.

And while I’m at it, best not to feel anything at all.

Uneasy with himself, slightly nauseated, Eddie held up his hand and snapped his fingers. Sparks flew off his thumb.

Lyssa made a small sound of surprise and backed away. Eddie followed her. He was taller, but not by much, and liked being able to look her in the eyes.

He conjured another spark of fire, which shimmered like a star. Then once more, only this time it was an actual flame, rippling from his palm up his wrist, setting his sleeve on fire. He clapped it out with his other hand, smoke rising between them.

The surprise in her eyes turned haunted. Lyssa reached out — slowly, tentatively. Her left hand was pale and delicate, smudged with color.

Inks, he thought. Or paint. His hand seemed so rough in comparison. Ugly and scarred.

Her fingertips hovered close to his. Heat touched his palm, warm and delicious, spreading deep into bone — down his wrist, into his arm. Slow and easy, and strong. A good heat, without the tumult of emotion that usually accompanied the fire inside him. A calm warmth that felt more right than anything he had experienced in a long time.

Do you feel it, too? Eddie almost asked, wanting to touch her so badly. Instead, he held his breath, and remained still. Waiting for her. Waiting for her not to be afraid.

Waiting for himself not to be afraid, too.

Lyssa’s gaze flicked to his face, then down again. Her cheeks turned pink. She lowered her hand, and that good heat faded, leaving him cold. Cold, and so empty, so alone, he had to take a moment to steady himself.

She clutched the jacket closed. “You’re not human.”

“Not a dragon,” Eddie said heavily, watching her flinch ever so slightly. “But human enough.”

“You know too much,” she whispered.

“Let me help you. It’s what I do.”

“Who are you, really?”

“I told you. My name is Eddie.” He felt at a loss for what else to say. Giving her a bullet point of his interests and hobbies seemed stupid, and he didn’t have much of a life outside work. Nothing that mattered here. “I could tell you other things about me, but that probably wouldn’t mean anything to you. I wouldn’t expect it to.”

Lyssa was silent a moment. “Who would do a favor for Long Nu?”

She said the name with quiet bitterness and resentment. Eddie wanted to know what had happened to cause such anger. It made him uneasy.

“The organization I work for helps people. All of us there are. . not normal. Long Nu came into our lives almost seven years ago. We don’t see her often unless she needs something. But let me be clear. I’m not here for her. I’m here for you. ”

“I don’t need anyone,” she muttered, and tried to walk around him. Eddie blocked her again, and she looked at him with a great deal of wariness. That stung, but he buried it, buried his heart, until he felt nothing when he met her distrustful gaze.

Almost nothing.

She was so pale, the shadows under her eyes very deep. But there was defiance there, too — and strength. Her spine was straight. She would go through him if he didn’t set her free.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

He didn’t bother arguing. Not directly.

“There were two women,” he told her. “On the street, after the explosion. I think they were witches. Maybe even the Cruor Venator. They knew you were a dragon.”

A profound stillness fell over her, and the fear returned to her eyes — along with terrible, haunting dread. He could feel her terror, and it was almost more than he could bear. Eddie burned to comfort her. All of him, burned. Being near her set the fire loose inside him in ways he did not understand. He had never felt this way about anyone.

“Describe them,” she said, in a low, hoarse voice.

“One was tall, African-American, wearing a red leather jacket. She called herself Nikola. The other was named Betty. A little shorter, with long black hair and very pale skin.”