I checked the mirror for oncoming cars, even though encountering any was unlikely on such an off-the-beaten track, then did a U-turn and headed down to the main road.
“Three. I had to wait for a hot enough day to perform the ceremony.”
He snorted softly. “If Melbourne can be relied on for anything, it’s weather that does not do what you want.”
“Yeah.” There were other reasons, of course, such as the Paranormal Investigations Team—a specialist squad of humans and supernaturals who worked outside the regular police force to solve crimes that involved paranormals—wanting a full and detailed debriefing before they’d let Jackson and me go. Then there was the problem of ensuring we weren’t being followed—one we solved by Jackson and me temporarily going our separate ways. He returned to the offices of Hellfire Investigations—the PI agency we jointly owned and ran—while I followed the example of so many of our enemies of late, using the stormwater system to get out of Melbourne unseen.
“What happened in Brooklyn after I was shot?” Rory said.
“Nothing. We just ran.” Or rather, left as quickly as any of us were able, given we were all more than a little broken and bloody by that time.
“And you haven’t heard from either Sam or Jackson since?”
“I talked to Jackson yesterday. I’m meeting him in Seymour tonight if he can get away without being followed.” I had no idea what Sam might be doing. He hadn’t exactly been communicative since I’d stepped back into his life. He might be one of PIT’s top investigators, he might be chasing the same damn things we were, but he’d generally dealt with me only when and where necessary.
“Is that wise?” Concern edged Rory’s voice.
“Probably not, but it’s not as if we have another option. There are still too many things we need to do.”
And far too many people we’d endanger if we did stop or disappear. Hell, my vanishing for three days was enough of a risk. I was just hoping Rinaldo—the vampire who was blackmailing us for any and all information on the Crimson Death virus, or red cloak virus, as it was more commonly known—would put our recent lack of action down to injury recovery.
Of course, both he and everyone else currently tailing us also wouldn’t have minded our finding the missing scientists who’d been working on a cure for the virus. Unfortunately, they’d been purposefully infected, brought under the control of the red cloak hive “queen,” and, right now, were who knows where, working on god knows what.
What we did know was that the infected generally fell into two categories—those who became crazy pseudo vampires leashed by the will of the “queen,” and the ones who, while they also gained vampirelike abilities, kept all mental facilities even though they were still bound to the hive and its leader. No one really understood why the virus affected some more than others, although the powers that be suspected it very much depended on which lot infected you. The scientists were apparently in this category—no surprise given the hive queen had wanted them working on the cure as much as the rest of us.
Of course, there was a third category, involving people like Sam who, though infected, had no attachment to the hive and did not fall under the will of its leader.
“What about Rinaldo?” Rory asked.
“Jackson’s been making the required nightly call.” I shrugged. “Hopefully, it’ll keep him off our backs.”
“If he’s as old as you suspect, then it probably won’t,” Rory said. The more he talked, the scratchier his voice became. “Those bastards see things in rather simple terms—that is, things they want, people they can use to get those things, and people who are in their way.”
We were currently sitting in that middle group with Rinaldo. I did not want to step into the latter group.
I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Rory was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Don’t fight it; your body needs the rest.”
“You can’t carry me in, and the last thing we need is you breaking your back and having us both immobile.”
I grinned. “Your ass may be heavy, but I’ve carried it before and I can do so again. Stop being an idiot, and let your body do what it needs to.”
He didn’t reply, and, in a matter of seconds, he was asleep. I hit the main road and headed toward the small cabin I’d rented for the next week. It was a pretty but basic building, the interior little more than one large wood-clad room that held a bed, a kitchenette, and a sofa, with a bathroom tucked into one corner. But it was the open fire dominating the main room that had drawn me there. Rory needed both flame and food to continue his rehabilitation toward full mobility, which was why I’d not only lit the fire before I’d left but had also set up a bed right in front of it. No matter how long he slept, his body would automatically feed on the flames.
The moon was casting its silver light across the shadows by the time I pulled into the long driveway that led down to the half dozen cabins dotted along the banks of the Goulburn River. Ours was the very last one, situated around a slight bend in the river and out of the direct line of sight of the other five.
I reversed up to the front steps, then climbed out and unlocked the front door. A wave of heat hit me, and I closed my eyes, briefly drawing it into my body to ease a little of the tiredness. But this heat was not mine to enjoy.
I severed the connection and returned to the car, opened the rear door, then dragged the mattress—and Rory—closer. He muttered something unintelligible and half sat up, making my job a little easier. I swung his arm around my shoulder, then hauled him upright, being careful not to crack his head on the top of the wagon’s door.
He waved his free hand about randomly and said in a rather grand tone, “Onward and upward, my dear!”
I grinned, shifted my grip to his waist, and half carried, half guided him up the steps. His breath was little more than a wheeze by the time we made it inside, and we all but staggered over to the fire. I stripped him out of his tunic, then helped him down onto the mattress. I didn’t bother covering him, simply because having his entire body exposed to the flames would hasten the refeeding process.
“Thanks.” His eyes briefly fluttered open. “What time are you meeting Jackson?”
I threw some more logs on the fire, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “In twenty minutes.”
He grunted. “Bring back some coffee. And fries. And a big burger. Or two.”
Amusement ran through me. “Like that’s a surprise request.”
I generally hungered for chocolate and green tea after my rebirths, but Rory had always preferred the fattier foods—a preference that had become much easier to fulfill when fast foods had come into being. Although cheese, eggs, and milk were theoretically healthier, fries and burgers seemed to fuel him faster.
“How long are you planning to be away?” he mumbled.
“Not long.” Particularly as he was still in such a fragile state. “But shit does happen.”
Especially since I’d saved Sam’s life and subsequently become involved in the quest to stop his brother’s mad scheme to spread the red cloak virus. Not only was Luke one of the few infected who’d retained his sanity, but he also happened to be the “queen bee” of the red cloak hive and had intended to create an army with which he could rule the world. And while we’d managed to bring Luke down in the Brooklyn madness that had taken Rory’s life, I had no idea how much of his army remained or whether he’d had a second in command who could take over. He’d certainly had a witch on his payroll—one who’d been powerful enough to not only create a spell able to contain a phoenix’s fire, but also to call and control three hellhounds. That I’d survived the encounter had been due to luck more than determination and skill on my part.
“Shit does,” Rory said. “And hopefully, the next truckload will happen all over the bastard who ordered me killed.”
I chuckled softly and touched his arm. His skin still held an
edge of coolness, which meant there was a way to go before he was up to full strength, despite appearances. “I won’t be long.”
He grunted. I waited until his breathing indicated he’d slipped into a deep sleep, then grabbed my coat and headed out. It didn’t take me all that long to reach Seymour. Although there were plenty of good-quality restaurants in the town, Jackson and I had decided to meet at McDonald’s, not only because it was easier but because I’d have to stop by there anyway to grab Rory’s food.
Once I’d parked, I climbed out and looked around. There weren’t many cars here; most customers were content to simply use the drive-through, if the long line was anything to go by. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to me, but that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t anyone out there watching my movements. The feeling wasn’t caused by paranoia so much as past experience, given the number of people who’d been following us of late.
I couldn’t see Jackson anywhere, so I headed inside. Aside from the couple eating at one of the corner tables, the only other people here were the staff.
My phone—an untraceable one we’d gotten from a friend of Rory’s who was heavily involved in the black market trade—beeped as I ordered a green tea, several burgers, and a bag of fries. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen.
Be there in a few minutes, the message said. Order me an espresso. A large one.
Though there was no name on the text, it could only have come from Jackson as, aside from Rory, no one else had this number. Jackson’s phone had come from PIT, and though they claimed it was also untraceable, they meant to everyone but themselves.
And that was something of a problem. I trusted Sam, and I trusted his boss—the rather formidable Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond—but that was about it. I was pretty sure PIT had at least one mole, and it didn’t matter whether that person belonged to the sindicati—the vampire equivalent of the Mafia—or was one of Rinaldo’s men; the last thing I needed was either group getting our current location or our new phone number. Not when Rory was in such a weak state, anyway.
I ordered Jackson’s coffee, then moved across to a table that overlooked the parking lot. I demolished my food in record time, needing to fuel my flesh as much as I’d need to refuel my spirit with flame sometime in the next twenty-four hours. As I started in on the fries, an old van drove into the parking area and stopped on the opposite side of the lot to my car. It was Jackson; of that I had no doubt. A few seconds later, he climbed out of the van, a lean, auburn-haired man who oozed heat and sexuality. Even from this distance, separated as we were by glass, I could feel it. It was a teasing but fiery river that ran delightfully across my senses, and it was something I’d never felt before. Not like this, anyway. Which maybe meant it was yet another side effect of allowing him to draw in my flames—to merge his spirit with mine—in an effort to burn the red cloak virus from his system. And we weren’t even sure if we’d achieved that.
PIT had recently taken blood samples, but it could be days—even weeks—before we knew the test results. I seriously doubted it would take that long, though, as there was currently no known cure for the red cloak virus. If my flames had burned it from Jackson’s system, it meant the virus was at least susceptible to heat.
Not that it’d help humanity all that much. Few races were capable of withstanding the high temperatures Jackson had.
I watched him walk toward the main door. If there was one thing literature and movies had gotten wrong when it came to the fae, it was their stature. They were neither small nor winged, and the only ones that were ethereal in any way were the air fae.
He made his way through the tables with a lightness and grace that belied said stature, his easy and delighted grin creasing the corners of his emerald eyes.
“Ah, Emberly.” His voice was little more than a murmur, but one that echoed deep within me. Another side effect of our merging was the ability to hear each other’s thoughts. Not all the time, and certainly not without some effort, but it was still there. And still developing, if that echo was any indication. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
“Let’s be honest here.” The amusement that ran through me bubbled over into my voice. “You’re an oversexed fire fae who hasn’t had much of the intimate stuff of late. You missed my body more than you missed me.”
“You wound me to the core with such a comment.” He rather dramatically slapped a hand against his chest, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the laughter dancing in his eyes.
I rose. “Yeah, I can see the tears.”
“They are raining inside, trust me.” He caught my hand and tugged me closer. “Life in the office has been seriously boring these last three days without you.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Not only was he delightfully muscular, but deliciously warm as well. Fire fae tended to run hotter than most humanoids, and although their core temperature was nowhere near as high as ours, they did make very compatible lovers.
But Jackson was also a perfect lover in one other respect: Fire fae didn’t do commitment, and Jackson was never going to want anything more than a good time from me—which was just as well, considering Sam was this lifetime’s heartbreaker.
“You spent years in that office flying solo,” I said, voice dry. “I’ve only been there a few weeks.”
“But in those few weeks, I have become so accustomed to your presence, I cannot imagine life without it.” His face grew suddenly serious. “And now, if you don’t mind, I desperately need to do something that I’ve been dreaming about for these last few days.”
And with that, he kissed me.
It was a long, slow, and extremely sensual exploration, and one that had my pulse racing and inner fires flaring. I controlled the latter, but only just—and that was instant cause for alarm. Control was something I’d learned from a very young age. That it threatened to break my restraints here—with this man—was something that hadn’t happened in the past and certainly shouldn’t be happening now.
I abruptly pulled away. His skin was almost translucent with heat, and alarm washed through me. The lack of control wasn’t mine, but rather his, somehow seeping through the link between us.
Jackson, I said, trying to put as much urgency as I could through our silent connection. Control it.
He blinked, then awareness of what was happening hit, and he cursed softly. The fiery color of his skin immediately dimmed, but I could still feel the heat burning deep within him. While fire fae generally couldn’t produce their own flame—they could only control fire that already existed, even if it was little more than a spark—Jackson had gained that ability when our spirits had merged.
But it was an ability he was still struggling with.
He cursed again and thrust a hand through his short hair. “Damn, I’ve spent the last few days practicing fire control, but it looks as if the results aren’t quite what I expected.”
I touched his arm lightly. “It takes a phoenix years to gain full control. You can’t expect similar results in a matter of days.”
He snorted. “I’m a fire fae. That should give me some sort of an advantage.”
“It will. But remember, while you’re able to control fire, it wasn’t an intimate part of your being until after we merged.” I squeezed his arm and sat back down. “You’re not used to having to control flames twenty-four/seven. Up until now, you’ve only had to exert control when fire was already present.”
He grunted and sat down opposite me. “It’s still fucking annoying. Especially if I now have to think about every little thing I do lest I set something on fire. Or someone.”
“Control will happen. But in the meantime, I can teach you how to leash it in more intimate moments.”
He took a sip of his coffee, then snagged a fry. “That sounds promising. Can we start now?”
I laughed. “Jackson
, we’re in the middle of McDonald’s.”
“And I have a van parked outside.”
“I don’t think either the staff or the patrons would appreciate our doing the horizontal tango out in their parking lot.”
“Sadly true.” He paused, and that wicked gleam reappeared. “There might, however, be room enough to do a vertical tango.”
I threw a fry at him. “We haven’t the time.”
“It’s been more than three days since my last loving. Trust me, it won’t take long.”
“It’s a sad day when a fire fae admits to so little control.”
“Woman, you have no idea just how much control I’m exerting right now.” He snagged the fry from the table and munched on it. “How’s Rory doing?”
“He was reborn without incident and is currently recharging in front of a roaring fire.”
Jackson grunted. “How long will it take him to get back to normal?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning, how long do I have to remain with him?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“It depends. Once he’s fully refueled, he’ll at least be capable of looking after himself even if he’s still physically weak. But right now, I can only leave him for small periods of time.”
“Small periods are better than nothing.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“You know that itchy feeling you get? The one that says we’re about to hit a truckload of trouble?”
“I get dreams, not itchy feelings.”
“Same, same, just a little more detailed.”
I smiled. There was a vast difference between getting prophetic dreams that always came true and simply feeling the approach of something ominous—and he knew it. “What is this premonition telling you?”
He hesitated. “Just that something bad is happening.”
“Happening? As in, right now?”
He nodded, his expression serious. “I don’t know what, I don’t know where, but whatever it is, it’s bad.”