Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

Eddie gave the witch another lingering glance, full of disdain. It made him seem decades older — those searing eyes in that young, hard face. He didn’t need some magical hoodoo to make someone feel uneasy. Just a look.

He walked right up to Lyssa and she braced herself, cut to the quick by the flash of concern and disappointment in his eyes.

“Of course I ran,” she said to him, before he could say a word. “That’s what I do.”

“You ran in the wrong direction. And you forgot someone.” Eddie took her hand, entwining their fingers. “Why do I get the feeling I’ll be chasing you for the rest of my life?”

“You wish.”

“You’re trouble.”

“I won’t change.”

“I’ll just have to run faster to keep up,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “If you dislike me, that’s one thing. But if you’re trying to keep me safe, don’t bother.”

She started to shake her head, but before she could say a word he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her ear. A smoky scent washed over her — real smoke, drifting off his clothes, accompanied by sparks. The tremendous heat that flowed from his body into hers felt like a balm on her soul, stealing the worst of her fear and misgivings, and self-hatred.

“Being safe alone holds no appeal,” he whispered. “We haven’t known each other long. . but trust me. I’d rather have no chance, with you.”

“You,” she said, but couldn’t speak all those words inside her. Eddie kissed her hand.

“I know,” he said.

Lyssa dragged down a deep breath and looked at Nikola, who was watching them with hollow eyes.

“You have a choice to make,” she told the witch. “Accept the truth that you’ve been lied to and that your friend is dead because of it. . or continue to serve the lie. This”—and she waved to Eddie and herself—“is no illusion. If Georgene told you that I am merely a shape-shifter, then she did so thinking, perhaps hoping, it would get you killed.”

Nikola swayed. “She would not do that.”

“Then you really don’t know the heart of a Cruor Venator, ” said Lyssa.

The witch’s gaze darkened, and she glided past them to the house to open the front door.

Lyssa and Eddie shared a quick look, then followed. Hands tightly clasped, fingers knotted. Inseparable. Her heart pounded too hard, and she forced herself to breathe through her nose. Blood scents crowded, though. Too much blood, bitter and rusty, mixed with perfume.

She saw a dark red footprint on the hardwood floor. Red, as in blood.

More than one print. A rusty trail, leading across the foyer to the front door where Nikola stood. Nearby, a bloodstained towel.

“I was busy, earlier this evening,” she said, and slipped off her shoes. Traces of dried blood covered her feet.

Lyssa’s knuckles cracked as her hand curled into a fist. Eddie quivered.

Tracks covered the floor, leading through a home that would have fit nicely in the architectural magazines she sometimes bought for reference and daydreams. Big open rooms, huge windows, dark slabs of stone and wood fitting into the walls and floors, creating a space that felt as much outdoors as in: rustic, rough, rich.

She caught the cool clean scent of freshwater — and clung to it as something better than blood. She heard water, too — a low gurgle that seemed to come from below, and in front of her.

A few more steps revealed an actual creek running through the house, surrounded by artisan-laid rock. In some spots, thick glass sheeting that had been laid on top as a clear floor, but other areas were exposed.

Blood covered the glass, too. Fresh drops. A normal person might not have noticed, but it practically glowed in her vision. It seemed different, somehow, than the blood on Nikola’s feet. Golden, even.

She glanced at the witch, but her gaze was almost immediately drawn back to the blood on the floor.

“What is it?” Eddie asked, also watching Nikola, who studied them with thoughtful, uncertain eyes. The front door stood open. Lyssa wondered, with enough motivation, whether Nikola would walk out into the night and abandon her Cruor Venator.

“This blood,” she told him. “It’s not human.”

Nikola’s gaze sharpened. “You know that?”

“I know the blood on your feet is human,” she snapped, anger making her throat thick. “But this. . this right here is not.”

“Whose blood is this?” Eddie demanded.

Nikola was silent a moment. “I don’t know. I was given a vial and told to scatter it.”

Lyssa wanted to walk away from that blood. She feared it with a cold desperation that made her break into a nauseated sweat.

But when she tried to take that step back. .

“Lyssa,” Eddie said quietly, and a reckless hopelessness rose inside her.

Still holding his hand, she knelt and swiped her finger over the blood. A quick glance showed Nikola watching her with a deep frown.

“Eddie,” she whispered, hoarse.

“I have you,” he replied, and she licked the blood off her finger.

A blast of heat hit her, and then a sharper sensation, focused behind her eyes. Her psychic connection with Eddie bloomed, allowing her to feel his concern.

Then, in almost the same instant, she felt three dull blows inside her head — like a hammer striking softly, without pain.

On the third strike, a door opened.

And Lyssa found herself in her mother’s memories, breathing her mother’s last breaths.

This was her blood.

Three knocks inside his skull. Eddie felt them like knuckles made of thunder as he struggled to watch Nikola through that terrible distraction.

But it was impossible. His vision wavered, cut with threads of crimson light, and inside his head he heard a sinuous voice whisper:

Do not be afraid. You are in her blood. You are of us now, forever. Dragon bound.

And there are things you must see.

Eddie choked, trying to breathe, but the air was sucked out of his lungs with terrifying force. He found himself falling into a terrible darkness. The only thing he could feel was Lyssa’s hand in his, but even that became fluid and hard to hold.

Until, suddenly, the world shifted again—

— and he found himself kneeling in snow, naked and bleeding, staring at a sobbing girl with golden eyes. Her hands and feet were bound, two obsidian blades digging into her throat. Two women, holding her down, laughing and nuzzling her soft hair as she stared at him with eyes that showed a blistered, burning soul.

Lyssa, he thought, fighting to reach her — but he was bound in place, an iron collar around his throat.

“Let her go,” he said, but it was a woman’s voice that left his mouth, low and quivering with fury. “Let her go. You promised.”

“I lied,” murmured a soft voice. “Blood murders blood. That is how it works. You know this better than anyone.”

“Your mother deserved to die,” Eddie said. “She was a monster.”

“But she was mine.” Pain flashed against his back, making him stiffen with a gasp. In almost the same instant, a hot tongue raced across the wound — and he felt part of himself drift away as though tugged by a string. “Just as you will be mine. . and your daughter and husband, as well.”

“No,” he said, just as the blade sunk through his back, barely missing his heart.

The pain was beyond words — but not as terrible as seeing Lyssa’s tortured gaze — or hearing her scream for him.

For her mother, he realized, and suddenly he could feel her hand again in his, clutched so tight he barely knew where one began and the other ended. Lyssa’s scream clawed through him, changing in pitch from young girl to woman, and in his mind Eddie squeezed her hand until he thought it would break, pulling with all his strength until a hard, warm presence slammed against him — and fire exploded behind his eyes.