Chapter 17
Blaze turned to the thief. Zane. His name was Zane. And oh, hell, he was standing on the terrace now, not suspended above it. He was watching her warily, shifting his weight on his lean muscular legs, his hands free.
He’d neutralized her spell. Damn, damn, damn—he was powerful. Blaze took another step back, trying to keep them all in sight at once. This could get ugly fast.
Zane seemed to be able to read her face. He also took a step back and held up his hand, indicating that he wasn’t going to try anything.
Yeah, right.
He rolled his shoulders to loosen them, and Blaze almost forgot to keep her guard up. He was big—well over six feet—and his chest was incredible. Defined pecs, eight-pack abs—all of it rippling in the moonlight right in front of her.
She focused with an effort. “What do you mean, the idol came to you?”
“There was someone else there that night,” he said. “In the vault. She had the box with the idol in her hands when I got there. She opened it, the tracking dust hit her in the face, and she dropped the box. The idol fell on my damned foot. I picked it up, the alarm went off, and I shoved it into my pocket without thinking and ran.”
It would have sounded completely unbelievable, except she knew it was true. Rebel Smith was there. That was why she’d had the magic residue on her. She’d wanted the idol, but she didn’t get it.
And Zane wanted the Dragonfly, and had ended up with the idol. It was almost comical.
Almost.
Blaze said, “Where is the idol now?”
Astoundingly, Zane reached right into the pocket of his tattered jacket and pulled out the velvet pouch.
Her first thought was pure relief. He’d brought the idol; she could get it back right now. Her second thought came out of her mouth before she could stop it. “You brought that here, to a gathering of the most powerful dealers in dark magic in Portland? With no wards but that pouch? Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking?”
Zane glanced down at the idol in his hand, looking nonplused. Couldn’t he feel the evil emanating from it? Now that it was out in the open, Blaze could feel it from where she was standing.
Or maybe he was already under its influence.
It was the one in the doorway who spoke, though.
“Thorne was thinking we could trade it back to you. For the Dragonfly of Morocco.”
Fury swept through Blaze. They had the nerve to steal something from her, and then expect her to buy it back? She forgot that there were three of them, all bigger than her, and that at least one of them had crazy powerful magic. She forgot everything except the times that people who were bigger and more powerful than her thought they could take advantage of her.
They’d thought wrong.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” she hissed, “but I do not buy back my own property from thieves.”
She made a sweeping gesture, and plucked the idol out of Zane’s grasp with a retrieval spell. It sped through the night toward her hand.
And then stopped dead.
The man leaning against the doorway had flung his hand out negligently, his power matching hers and freezing the idol in mid-air. Blaze could feel it straining to go to him.
Oh hell no. Blaze intensified her spell, and the idol quivered. Out of the corner of her eye, Blaze saw Thorne Greystone rip his hands out of her ropes and stride forward. She flung out her left arm towards him, casting the strongest stasis spell she could manage with half her attention on the idol. He might be able to shrug it off, but it should at least slow him down.
It stopped him in his tracks.
All three men stared at her with various degrees of shock, like they hadn’t expected she could contain Thorne. Honestly, neither had she.
It was a standoff—for the moment.
But Zane was free, and she had nothing left to stop him with. She had about two minutes left on these spells, and then her strength would run out. And they’d win.
She looked over at Zane. He was watching her, a slight frown between his eyebrows. She could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down her chest, but she wouldn’t give up.
Zane walked forward. When he got to the idol, he raised his hand and swiped it through the air between her and the little statue. She felt her spell cut off, and she staggered backward, panting, still holding Thorne in stasis. Before she could gather herself for another spell, Zane said quietly, “Tyr.”
The man in the doorway rolled his eyes, but he let the idol drift slowly down into Zane’s palm. Then, to Blaze’s shock, Zane turned to her and held it out. “Here,” he said. “Take it.”
“Zane,” Thorne growled.
Zane ignored him. He held Blaze’s gaze, and a strange warmth spread through her, centered in her chest. He didn’t move.
She approached him cautiously, but he just stood there, hand out, very still. Like someone trying to coax a wild animal to come to them.
She reached out to take the idol. He let it slide easily out of his grasp, but before she could withdraw her hand he closed his around it, large and warm.
Blaze felt all the breath leave her body. What the hell was it with this man? How could he make her feel like this? Was he some kind of sex demon?
“Can I talk to you alone?” he asked. She started to shake her head, but he still cupped her hand lightly. “Please?”
She couldn’t look away from those eyes. They seemed to gleam in the moonlight with hidden blue fire, as if they had a light of their own. His hand was so warm—and warmth seemed to radiate off his bare chest. It made her want to just curl up against him, cozy and safe, and bask in it.
But that would be crazy. Wouldn’t it?
He waited quietly for her to make up her mind. Finally she nodded, once.
A hint of a smile came to his lips. Not a self-satisfied, “I won” smile. More like someone had given him a present that he really wanted. Something that made him happy.
“Go on,” he said to the other two, without looking away from her. “We’ll be fine.”
Thorne began muttering, and Zane smiled at her. “You can let him go. None of us will hurt you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she released her stasis spell. Thorne shook himself like a dog, glaring at her. He stalked off through the double doors to the study, his shirt and jacket magically restoring themselves as he went.
So he did have power. All three of them did—lots of it. Why weren’t they in a coven? Were they demons of some kind?
She turned back to Zane, who was still watching at her intently. “Um, you can let go of my hand now.”
He looked down at their clasped hands, the idol between them in its pouch, and slowly let her go. His fingers trailed over her wrist, sending shivers up her arm and down through her body to her core.
He stepped back. His shirt was still torn, and she could see his chest moving. He was breathing faster than he should have been. Her own heart was racing, and she almost thought she could hear his thumping wildly, matching hers exactly.
She waited to hear what he had to say. But instead of saying anything, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an oversized playing card. He held it out to her.
It was her missing Tarot card. The Knight of Flames, riding a dragon.