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She reached down inside herself for the power of the flames. This time, she intended to burn, intended to destroy, and the flames that sprang to life across her fingertips echoed that intention. They were fierce, hungry, and didn't resemble flame imps in the slightest.
The scrape of a nail made her jerk around. The wolf had stepped onto the roof, and the flames reflected in its yellow eyes, making them glow eerily.
It stepped forward, its snarl low, fierce and deadly. She stepped back, the fierce golden fire of her flames burning back the fog, allowing weak sunlight to filter in and lift some of the shadows. But sunlight only made the wolf's intentions more obvious. It would stop her anyway it deemed necessary. From behind the wolf a figure rose. The stranger staggered to the roof's entrance, his face white, and his breathing still little more than a rasp.
"Get her,” he said, in a low, dead voice that didn't match the man or his injuries and oddly reminded her of Kinnard. “Just remember, injure, not kill."
The wolf stalked forward. She retreated, her gaze on the stranger more than the wolf. His brown eyes were still glazed, unblinking. Did that mean Dunleavy was controlling his actions, but not actually seeing what this man saw? Why else would he not react to the flames burning across her fingers?
The wolf walked around the edges of the pentagram. With the stranger blocking the exit to the stairs, she had no other choice but to back towards the far wall. Once she hit that, her only options were to either fight or risk the two-story drop.
Her gaze went to the pentagram. She had to destroy it. It was one source of Dunleavy's power, and the more they destroyed his supply options, the better chance they had. And the better chance Camille and the rest of the Circle had of getting in here to save the day should she and Michael fail. Not that they would fail, because she had every intention of marrying her vampire, and no psycho out for revenge was going to stop her.
Her gaze went to the stranger. She couldn't let him die, though, and she very much suspected that might happen if she flamed this roof. Dunleavy had his mind, and wherever Dunleavy was, it surely wasn't close enough to see the fire until it was too late.
The wolf had reached the top of the pentagram. A few more steps and it would be within launching range. She stepped sideways, raised her burning hand, and reached for more of the power surging through her veins.
"Burn this place to cinders,” she said softly.
Fire exploded through her, around her, and the air was suddenly thick with heat. The wolf yelped, a sound full of surprise, but she wasted no time seeing what had happened to it. She'd left it an escape route—over the roof edge. Shifters were tough—it could take a two-story fall without breaking a nail. She spun and ran for the stranger. When she was close enough, she launched herself at him, twisting in the air so that she'd hit him feet first. He didn't react, merely stood there dumbly, confirming her guess that Dunleavy wasn't using this man's eyes. She hit him hard, and sent him flailing backwards. He hit the landing's back railing, and with a crack that sounded like thunder, the wood splintered and gave way. With arms flailing, the stranger fell backwards into the fog and disappeared. She barely had the chance to swear before the impetus of her leap took her over the edge and down into that same fogginess.
"Oh, shit ,” was all she managed to say before the free fall experience was over. She hit the ground with enough force to jar every bone in her body and send her teeth through her tongue. She slumped face first into the dirt and lay there for several minutes, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to ignore the pain pouring through every nerve ending. She'd never fallen two stories before, and it was certainly an experience she never wanted to repeat. It damn well hurt. Concern flooded through her mind, and suddenly there were warm hands on her back, her neck, feeling for a pulse, checking that she was okay.
"I'm all right,” she murmured, and forced herself to roll over. “Just winded." Michael's face was dark with dust, and there were smears of blood near his temple, as if he'd dragged bloody fingers through his hair. “Are you sure?"
She wiggled her fingers and moved her feet. “I'm fine. Really." The relief and love evident in his gaze made her heart do its usual happy dance.
"I was in the mines and felt your pain.” He paused and frowned. “Odd, really." She smiled and touched a hand to his cheek. “Not as odd as you might think. Did you find anything?"
"Another circle. I destroyed it, though the pentagram is still viable.” He glanced up at the roof of the whorehouse. Orange flames were now visible through the rapidly retreating fog. “Looks like the one up there is in the process of being destroyed, though."
She nodded and grabbed his leg, using it to help her sit up. He winced, and as she pulled her hand away, she saw the blood. “What the hell...?"
He shrugged. “Dunleavy wasn't about to let me take one of his sacrifices without a fight. He had three wolves protecting the stones. I used one of their bodies to displace the rocks."
"Since your jeans are soaked with blood, you definitely need that wound treated." He gave her a gentle smile. “Blood is easy enough for me to replace. The man I rescued needs treatment first.” He paused, looking past her. “Who is that?"
She twisted around. The man she'd knocked off the roof was lying on his back not far away. “Dunleavy left him as a guard on the roof. He okay?"
"He breathes. His heart beats."
She glanced at Michael. “Can you touch his thoughts."
He frowned. Energy buzzed around them, a sharper heat than that coming from the flames above them.
“I should be able to, but it feels like I'm fighting my way through molasses." Because of the runes. At least she'd be able to tackle them again—given he was covered in dirt, he was definitely taking a bath. “Where's the man you rescued?"
In answer, he rose and offered her a hand. She placed her fingers in his, her skin trembling at the sheer warmth of his touch. He pulled her to her feet, but didn't move immediately, instead touching her bruised chin with his free hand.
"I know you,” he said softly. “Love you."
Elation winged through her soul. The wall around his memories was breaking down—and though she wished it would happen a little faster, at least it was happening.
"And I you,” she whispered, then added through the link, but when you remember my name, do not utter it out loud.
Why?
Again, despite the spell, he didn't seem to think it strange for them to be connecting this way—even though he'd tried to use telepathy moments ago and couldn't. But maybe that was because Dunleavy didn't actually know about the deeper connection between them. He'd blocked Michael's memories and, therefore, his path to the link, but as the memories seeped back, so did his access to the mind link. Because Dunleavy thinks I am someone I'm not.
