Darkfire Kiss (3 page)

Attention Magnus wouldn’t want.

No, he wanted everyone to believe he wasn’t at home. The absence of a dragonsmoke ring implied the house was unoccupied.

Rafferty wasn’t persuaded. He couldn’t sense or smell anything that told him Magnus was in the house, but he believed he was with every fiber of his being. Tonight was the night.

Rafferty turned the black and white ring on his finger one last time. This would be a fight to the death, and he wouldn’t necessarily be victorious. Right didn’t always prevail, unfortunately. Rafferty prepared himself for the possibility of his own death, then stepped out of the shadows of the cedar hedge.

He saw the woman then, and the sight of her stopped him cold.

Rafferty stared, but she was no illusion. She marched up the driveway, with all the force of a hurricane hurtling toward the shore. She was slender and tall, her skirt swinging as she moved, her features hidden by her scarf. Her hair was short but as dark as a raven’s wing.

Ebony curls.

Her skin was golden, the hue of buckwheat honey. She had terrific legs, lean and muscled, and she walked with a purposeful femininity. Rafferty was snared by the sight of her, by the fluid way she moved. She could have been dancing.

And her perfume, so feminine, so faint, enthralled him with one whiff. His body responded to her presence with such enthusiasm that he was startled, startled enough to ease back into the shadows.

Lust at one sight? That wasn’t like him. Was it the influence of the moon? He didn’t know; he only felt himself harden as he watched the sweet sway of her hips.

And wanted.

How long had it been?

He forced himself to think rationally. Could Magnus have a guest? At this hour? Was she a mistress? She didn’t appear to be Magnus’s type—he favored flashy women, whereas this one was dressed simply in dark colors. She was older than the usual jailbait Magnus chose, as well.

A woman, not a girl.

And that perfume. Not sweet so much as seductive. Musk instead of honeysuckle. It was the perfume of a woman who knew her powers, knew her allure, and wasn’t afraid of either. Confident and potent. Forthright.

Rafferty’s mouth went dry. He was intrigued when she went directly to the back door. Was she visiting someone else in the house? Presumably Magnus had staff.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that she came right after the big sedan’s departure. Not at this hour.

Rafferty eased closer to watch her. He narrowed his eyes, his
Pyr
vision enabling him to see the silhouette of her gloved hand. She raised her fingers to the pad of the security system, the leather pulling to reveal an increment of skin. Rafferty could see the bone of her wrist, fine and delicate. He was certain it would be soft, scented with that intriguing perfume.

When had a glimpse of a woman’s skin aroused him so?

She didn’t knock or ring the bell. Instead, she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, then punched a sequence of codes into the security system. Though she had the codes, her every gesture revealed her conviction that she wouldn’t be welcome.

Not staff, then.

Not a mistress.

But she had the codes right. The door opened, revealing a slice of deeper darkness. Rafferty was sure he saw her hesitate for a moment before she slipped into the shadows of the house.

Then he was horrified. He couldn’t begin to imagine how Magnus would treat an intruder in his lair.

Well, he
could
imagine—that was the problem.

The woman was either incredibly brave or stupid. Either way, she was a human who would shortly be in need of his protection.

Rafferty was across the property in a heartbeat, refusing to think further than that. He moved quickly enough to catch the lip of the closing door with his fingertips. That lingering perfume taunted him, teased him, beckoned to him.

And he followed the woman into the house, wondering all the while at her audacity.

Instead of thinking about Magnus, Rafferty Powell wanted to see the face of the woman who dared to take such a chance.

No, he wanted more than that.

Melissa had done it.

Well, she’d done the first part. She was in Montmorency’s house.

Her heart was thumping so loudly, she was sure someone would hear it. The house was so quiet, so still, so dark. She had to stop for a minute, only eight or ten steps into the back hall, to let her eyes adjust. It felt as if it took an eternity.

Sweat slid down her back during those precious seconds.

She thought she heard a step behind her, but when she glanced back, there was nothing but more darkness. Could she hear someone breathing? Could she feel someone watching her?

Or was she imagining problems that didn’t exist?

She forced herself to recall Daphne’s description of the house and peered into the shadows. If this opening to the left was the main corridor, then Montmorency’s office would be the first door on the right.

What kind of person wouldn’t leave on a single light at night? It was so dark in the house that Melissa felt she was being swallowed alive. It was weird and a bit creepy. There should have been appliances with lit displays, at least. Not a lot of light but
some
.

Instead, the house was as devoid of light as a black hole. Melissa could feel the hair standing up on the back of her neck.

She couldn’t sense the ceiling and guessed that it was high. A grand interior, then. Well, Montmorency could afford it, if he was doing the business she knew he was. Crime paid well. She wouldn’t consider that she might benefit financially from this theft.

No. She reminded her conscience that her choice was about Daphne and justice and the greater good. Melissa stepped with care, ensuring that she didn’t make a sound.

It was hard to shake the sense that she was being watched.

Maybe just by her moral code. Were there motion detectors? Daphne had insisted that the computerized door locks were the only security. Trapped in the house’s shadows, Melissa began to doubt that assertion.

Was it really plausible that a man like Montmorency, a man in his high-risk business, had such a simple security system?

Was Daphne lying? Why would she? Doubts assailed Melissa, but it was too late to turn back. She kept going. The crime was done: she might as well try to get the book.

Melissa turned the corner and guessed that she was leaving the servants’ quarters for the main house. The flooring changed, becoming wood instead of practical tile. She could hear the trickle of water ahead, and it relieved her to hear something that could orient her. She recalled Daphne’s description in the diary of the fountain in the foyer.

She was on the right track, then. Another step and an open doorway loomed on her right, a rectangle of obsidian that arched high overhead. What high doorways Montmorency had. Why? Maybe his ego required that much space.

Cold air seemed to emanate from the room, and there was an earthy smell that made her shiver in revulsion.

There was her conscience again.

Melissa eased into the room and pulled the flashlight from her pocket. Daphne had said the office had no windows and that it was secure in the middle of the house. If she was in the office and she was alone, no one would see Melissa’s light.

She hesitated, her thumb on the button. What if she was wrong?

She took another step, put out her hand, found the corner of a piece of furniture. Her fingers quickly discovered it was a desk.

Ha. She wasn’t wrong.

Relief flooded through her, and she turned on the flashlight. She had a moment to note the midcentury teak furnishings that Daphne had described before a man whispered behind her.

“Bad choice,” he said.

Melissa spun in terror. She almost dropped the flashlight, and certainly it wavered in her grip.

A man stood behind her, a man unlike any man she’d ever seen before. He was tall and broad, his leather jacket doing nothing to hide his muscular build. He looked powerful—powerful enough to snap her in half, if he so chose.

Instead, he waited for her explanation. His hair was long and wavy, the kind of hair she’d love to have, a dark chestnut color filled with red glints. He wore a black and white ring that looked to be made of glass, a ring she saw when he folded his arms across his chest.

It was his eyes, though, that captivated her. They were dark, as dark as bittersweet chocolate, and filled with a knowingness that shook her to her toes. They shone with wisdom and disappointment, and she knew he could be a hard judge. She had the sense that he could see right to her heart, that he knew everything she had done and said, everything that had brought her to this place, every secret she’d ever ferreted away.

And he didn’t approve of her choice.

It was her conscience live and in person.

But in the guise of a sexy stranger.

A
very
sexy stranger.

But who was he? Did he work for Montmorency?

Thinking fast, Melissa swallowed and struggled to come up with a good explanation for her presence. It was pretty much impossible, given that she was lost in this man’s incredible eyes. She opened her mouth and closed it again, more inarticulate than she would have believed possible. He waited, patient and motionless, and she felt herself start to blush.

“Very bad choice,” another man said, his voice not as low as that of Mr. Conscience. He had a European accent. Although Melissa couldn’t place its origin, she recognized that voice.

As Mr. Conscience spun, Melissa cast the light of the flashlight over his shoulder. The light glinted on the smile of Magnus Montmorency, who stood in the doorway of his office.

Holding a gun.

The barrel was pointed directly at Melissa’s heart.

Okay, so the plan hadn’t worked out as well as she’d hoped.

Melissa didn’t have time to come up with a new strategy, not before the guy with the great eyes began to shimmer blue around his perimeter. It had to be an illusion, a trick of the darkness. People didn’t shimmer. But by the time she’d blinked and looked again, something even stranger had happened.

There were two dragons in the light of her flashlight, and the two men were gone. Montmorency’s gun fell to the floor with a clatter as Melissa gaped at the dragons.

What had happened to Mr. Conscience and Montmorency?

And where had the dragons come from? She would have noticed them, no matter where they’d been hiding. They were huge.

She thought about that blue shimmer and wondered.

Impossible.

The dragons roared at each other and started to fight.

The light of her flashlight shone on the gun on the hardwood floor. The gun was reassuringly real and lethal, something she understood.

The sight of it gave Melissa her new plan.

How could a thief look so innocent?

Maybe that was how she got away with her crimes.

All the same, Rafferty felt something melt inside him when he confronted the woman who had illegally entered Magnus’s home. Her skin was a rich gold, maybe indicative of a mixed racial background.

Rafferty was entranced by her eyes. They were marvelous—thickly lashed and exotic, tipped up at the outer corners. They were a vivid shade of green.

Her lips were full and luscious, tempting him to touch them with a fingertip, to see if they were really as silky soft as they appeared. The yearning that had been nudging at him redoubled in her presence, reminding him how long he had fought alone. When she caught her breath and retreated, the end of her scarf fell at the move, revealing the sleek golden length of her neck.

Rafferty took a step closer, beguiled by that perfume, enchanted by the sight of her, wanting as he had never wanted. Something primal in him roared, demanding satisfaction, and he thought he saw an answering desire in the woman’s magnificent eyes.

Her blush made him forget himself completely. It had seemed so out of character for a bold thief to blush, and he’d been transfixed by the slow spread of rosiness. He’d been so awed by her beauty that he hadn’t been listening as keenly as he should have for Magnus.

And Magnus
was
home.

Rafferty pivoted to face his old foe, shifting shape in a heartbeat. He forgot about defending the woman from the sight of his transformation, more intent upon protecting her. Magnus was ahead of him, already having changed to a jade and gold dragon. His gun fell to the floor just as Magnus breathed fire at Rafferty.

Rafferty was astonished to see how Magnus had healed since their last encounter, and he wondered again whether the old
Slayer
had a hidden stash of Dragon’s Blood Elixir. Or had he learned some new secret from Chen? There was no doubt that the
Slayer
was in fine form once again.

But he was as vicious as ever. Magnus was immediately on the offensive, slashing toward Rafferty with one claw and catching him across the jaw just before he completed his shift. Rafferty stumbled backward at the sting of the blow, then leapt at Magnus. Magnus retreated to the foyer, Rafferty bounding after him, and the pair locked claws to grapple for supremacy.

Did the woman work for Magnus?

Had she been sent to distract Rafferty on purpose?

Or was she being manipulated by Magnus, as well? Rafferty had no time to think about it. Thief or pawn, she wasn’t a woman he should trust.

Much less one he should want.

The old
Slayer
was strong, stronger than he had been. He bent Rafferty’s talons back and exhaled a stinging torrent of dragonfire. His eyes glittered dangerously, and Rafferty wondered what new tricks his enemy had learned.

“
Always good to see you again
,” Magnus murmured in old-speak.
“Although I would have expected you to knock.”

“
The door was open
,” Rafferty replied in kind.

Magnus laughed.
“You thought the house was empty.”