Карен Монинг - Burned

His eyes change and I catch my breath. Crimson glitters. Not because of the Unseelie Princesses at his club, but at the mere mention of Dani’s name. “I haven’t seen her in twenty-one bloody fucking days. Not since the night we put the ice monster down. I’ve torn this city apart looking for her. Searched and interrogated and — fuck.” A muscle works in his jaw. “If she’s hiding from me, she’s gone deep. She thinks she’s invincible but she’s just a kid. You.”

I shake my head instantly, not about to confess my part in things with that glitter of crimson flashing. “We have to find her.”

“I’m bloody well trying. At the moment we have a more pressing problem.”

Time to negotiate. “What’s in it for me?”

He flashes a mocking smile, and I don’t know if he uses mystical powers of persuasion to pack his words with a little extra visual punch in my brain or if I’m just that visually motivated where certain things are concerned.

“Ah, Mac, consider what isn’t: Barrons chained to a desk. Or maybe a bed. Getting fucked senseless.” He pauses to lend his next words greater emphasis but I’ve already figured out where he’s going and I don’t like it one bit. “ Not by you.”

I’m out the door before he even finishes speaking.

We step from the bookstore beneath a black velvet sky filled with stars and a three-quarter moon haloed in orchid. The Fae-kissed moonlight gilds the damp cobblestones an otherworldly silver and lavender.

New Dublin has skies so clear and pollution-free they compete with my rural hometown. Since the walls came down and Fae magic spilled into our world, things aren’t the same colors they used to be. Now, new moon to full, the halo around it alters from pale gold to turquoise, orchid, and finally to crimson at the lunar peak.

In the distance I hear an unexpected noise: people talking, laughing, the rhythmic beat of music. I wonder if Temple Bar reopened tonight and inhale deeply of night-blooming jasmine drifting down from planters on top of the bookstore, reveling in the knowledge that Dublin is also blossoming, growing beautiful, craic -filled, and strong again.

“Last time you saw Dani,” Ryodan says, as I climb into the passenger side of a black military Humvee. I have to shove two Unseelie that are blocking the opened door out of the way before I can close it. I hear thumps on the roof as they settle in.

Ryodan shoots a look of disgust upward then rakes it over me.

“Not my fault and I can’t help it.”

“You stink, Mac.”

I grit my teeth a moment then say, “You said you wouldn’t bring it up. Any facet of it.” I used to be girly, pretty in pink, and smell good. I miss it sometimes. Especially the smelling good part.

“Dani. When.”

“Thought you didn’t repeat yourself,” I say pissily.

He gives me a look.

“Not sure,” I say.

“You really need to get over what happened with your sister.” He drops it so flat and cold, it takes my breath away.

“What do you mean?” I say warily. How much does he know?

“Dani’s involvement.”

“How do you know about that? Did Barrons tell you? He shouldn’t have. It wasn’t his to tell. And if you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it,” I say hotly.

I won’t let the world persecute her for it. I’ve never told Mom and Dad, and I never will. In my more rational moments — like when I’m not looking at her — I understand Dani was the weapon and you can’t blame the gun. Well, actually people can and do, which is why I’ll take this secret to the grave. It was Rowena who loaded the bullets, aimed, and pulled the trigger. In my more rational moments I see Dani’s pale face, eyes enormous, as she cries, “Well, why the feck not? I deserve to die!” And I want to take her in my arms and shake her, and tell her she doesn’t, and to never say that again.

“I knew when it happened. We were watching her. You tell anyone that, I’ll deny it. If you tell Dani, I’ll kill you myself.”

Dark power surges to homicidal life inside me. A heavy, gilded book cover threatens to explode open. I drop down cross-legged on top of it, mentally muttering:

Open here I flung the shutter when, with many a flirt and flutter, in there stepped a Stately Raven of the saintly days of yore …

Five stanzas later I’m composed enough to say, “You watched Dani kill Alina and didn’t stop her?” Well, maybe I’m not so composed. I’m across the Humvee, half on his lap, and my hand is around Ryodan’s throat, squeezing.

His fingers band my wrist hard enough to bruise. His other hand closes on my throat and there’s about an inch between our noses.

Silver eyes stare coolly into mine. Being close to him is almost as disturbing as being near Barrons. He’s every bit as sexual, though more contained. You don’t feel like you’re getting squished when Ryodan walks into the room. More like all your atoms are being caressed with a sensual electrical charge.

“Stop leaping to faulty conclusions, Mac. You’ll fall. And I’ll let you. I was watching Dani that night. She lost me. I didn’t find her again until it was too late.”

“Impossible. Dani can’t outrun you.” She was always bragging that one day, however, she would.

“She can give me a run for the money when she chooses.”

“No, she can’t. She used to complain about it all the time.”

“Get your fucking hand off my throat.”

“You first.”

We drop our hands at the same time and I recoil to my side of the Humvee. Belatedly, the full impact of what he just said sinks in. “Wait a minute, you knew since the day I got here who killed my sister and didn’t tell me?” I say incredulously. “You let me waste all that time, hunting others?”

“Dani didn’t kill Alina.”

“She told me herself she did,” I refute instantly.

“It’s not what you think.”

“What is it, then? Because the Unseelie that ate Alina sure thought so, too. They asked if Dani would bring them another ‘blondie’ like my sister.” My hands fist at the memory, nails digging deep. I have Mick O’Leary’s blood on my hands. I may as well have my own.

I search his profile. A muscle ticks beneath his left eye. Both hands are on the steering wheel, knuckles white. For an instant I see Barrons in him, a violently passionate man who controls it flawlessly, so the world thinks him ice.

“Answer me,” I snap. “Did she or didn’t she kill my sister?”

His only response is a rattle deep in his chest, the kind Barrons makes when he’s deeply disturbed.

“Have I fallen down a rabbit hole into an alternative reality where you actually have feelings?”

He gives me a feral look and I glimpse fangs. He closes his mouth swiftly, is motionless a moment, then says carefully, “I protect the best and brightest.”

IYCGM, Barrons’s shorthand for If You Can’t Get Me, is a number I can call on my cell phone that Ryodan always answers, but it’s never proved useful. Eyes narrowed, I tell him that.

“Precisely.”

“Do you sit around thinking up things to say to antagonize me?”

“Back at you, babe. When did you see her last.”

Why doesn’t he want her to know he was there that night, following her? Why is he saying Dani didn’t do it? What does he mean by “It’s not what you think”?

Since he’s already refused to answer those questions, I try another. “Why would you deny it if I told her?” When he says nothing, I say, “Quid pro quo, Ryodan. Take it or leave it.”