Chapter Seventeen
Bishop’s chill was waning. He’d come into the meeting more worried than defensive. Until Demetrius had attacked his demon and thereby him. Would it have been easier for Demetrius to kick him out, knowing part of his genetics belonged to the creatures they fought?
Many years of friendship would’ve been thrown down the drain over his demon. And D had said it all without twitching, hiding behind the claim that he was doing what was best for his people.
The cold blossomed back up and Fyra reached down to tap her fingers along his thigh. Her touch left a trail of comforting warmth.
He met her gaze. “I’ll work on finding Godet.”
Demetrius’s keen gaze didn’t miss the contact and Bishop’s challenged him in return.
“How many know about you?”
Bishop paled at the question. “None.”
Heads swiveled to Fyra.
“Oh, really?” Her hair sparked and Rourke’s hand twitched toward the fire extinguisher. “No, I didn’t say anything, not even when I was buying time to keep Rancor’s filthy appendages off of me.”
A cold blast waved off him. Clothes ruffled and strands of hair whispered in the breeze.
“Use it,” he growled. “If ever my ancestry could save you, use it. Spill anything you want about me.”
Her eyes became pools of searing lava, and he made it his goal to put that aww, you’re so sweet look on her face as much as he could.
“We go hunt for Godet.” Bishop pushed back and held his hand out for Fyra.
She slinked out of the chair. “Can we fit in a quick shopping trip? I’ll risk the wrath of the entire Circle for a pair of pants that fastens below my bellybutton.”
“Bishop.” Demetrius didn’t raise his voice, but it carried.
Out of loyalty to the friendship Bishop hoped they still had, he stopped before he left the conference room.
“Wait until nightfall and take Zoey and Rourke with you.”
“And take these with you.” Creed gathered the three closest fire extinguishers and pushed them across the table.
Until Bishop could spew ice from his fingers, he took Creed up on the advice. “We’ll go shopping and grab some shut-eye until then.”
Again, he turned to go and Demetrius stopped him.
“Shut-eye, Bishop. Don’t leave the wards until we can watch your back.”
Just Bishop’s, or his and Fyra’s?
Bishop ushered Fyra out, and as soon as they entered his apartment, he turned to her and set his hands on her shoulders.
“How much of your power can you control?”
Two prominent emotions traveled through her features. Alarm and shame.
He rubbed his thumbs along her clavicle, working hard to keep the movement from being sexual. “We’re going in the field tonight. I need to know what you’re capable of and any other possible outcomes.”
The natural fire in her eyes dimmed and she pulled away. She slid out a barstool and patted the seat next to her.
They settled, each with a foot bracing on the floor and one kicked up onto a support bar.
“I certainly didn’t know I could do what I did to Trance. I don’t think my mom even knew.” Fleeting sadness crossed her face. “I can release various combustion-related gases. Start fires, of course, create heat.”
He skimmed her hair with his gaze, then dropped it to her wringing hands in her lap. “With what body parts?”
“I’ve never thought about it. I just do it…with whatever seems right.”
“Bodily fluids?”
“Like sizzling spit? Only if I want it to.” Her sultry smile reminded him that their last two times together had been too quick.
“Then why all the accidental fires?”
She tucked her hands under her bum and rocked side to side. “I get a little emotional…”
“What emotions?”
“The typical. Fear, anxiety, anger. Anger’s a big one.” Her lips turned down and she stared at the wall. “I never get that angry. I never really get angry.”
“You get pissed and someone gets fried?”
“Possibly.”
“No idea how to control it?” Any advice she had, he needed. The more he was around her, the more of his own power was expressed and he had his own issues with control.
“Stryke said I’m more powerful than anyone assumes, but I won’t be if I don’t control it.”
“Stryke seems to be the one with the answers.”
“I think I like him so much because he reminds me of me.” She chuckled. “Two demons born into the wrong realm, coveted by those bad for our health. Sounds like a bad plot.” She released her hands. “Enough about this stuff. I’m tired and we need to have some dirty sex before we hunt Godet.”
He was off his stool and swooping her up before she’d finished her sentence.
***
By the time the sun set, Fyra and Bishop were waiting in the garage by a sizeable SUV. She had a borrowed gun and knife from him strapped under her mom jeans and turtleneck. How she’d ever get to them under her layers of clothing, well, it’d be interesting.
Betty knew how to cover the maximum amount of flesh with the most uncomfortable material. Fyra loved wearing denim, but this stuff was ten times thicker and more unforgiving than the fires of Hell. The floral print on her turtleneck made her think of drapes from the seventies. Fyra and her mother had burned a few during their time, out of the principle that something so ugly shouldn’t be allowed to exist. The world should thank them.
But the shoes were comfortable. Fyra peered down at her size twelves, not an easy score for a woman. And she knew this brand of athletic shoes crept toward two hundred dollars a pair. Betty was forgiven.
Maybe not. Fyra winced as she bent over and the waist of her pants cut under her ribs. She should buy all of these pairs and bring them home to sell as a new-age torture device.
“Ready?” Zoey entered the bay, looking no-nonsense and badass. In other words, normal. And did her hair require holders to stay in that bun anymore? It probably wouldn’t know how to fall free if the female stood in the middle of a Freemont blizzard.
Fyra eyed her outfit with envy. Not because it also showed as little skin as her own, but because the material moved with Zoey’s movements like a second skin, as good as nudity.
Rourke walked next to his fellow vampire, wearing a mask of perpetual irritation.
It might not be a mask. When Fyra had studied the team, she’d never seen him smile, unlike Bishop’s easy grin.
Her and Bishop had actually laughed during sex before they’d slept for the day. Belly laughed.
Snow had started falling after one of his climaxes and in his frustration at trying, and failing, to stop it, it’d turned to pelting sleet. Fyra had wielded her fingers like toy guns and zapped as many particles as she could with each blast.
Except for a few scorch marks on the walls, there was nothing but soggy sheets to know anything had been amiss.
Zoey held up some keys. “We ride in the same vehicle.”
Her tone made it clear who was in charge and the males moved without hesitation. Fyra got into the backseat next to Bishop, whose legs pressed against the front seat. More room than a car, but Bishop must’ve wanted to be with her. No one argued and Rourke rode shotgun.
Fyra marveled over the seamless nature of how the team functioned. Even in the conference room when emotions had been tense, they’d all respected Demetrius and deferred to him. Zoey was the equivalent of second-in-command, though Fyra didn’t know how she justified it when she was also on the Synod.
So Fyra asked.
A delicate eyebrow arched. The female was a few inches shorter than Fyra, still tall compared to human women, but she’d pass more for a runway model than a warrior.
“I didn’t fuck up like D did a couple of months ago. I have no mate to be dedicated to more than my work, and my work protecting the species the Synod strives to protect has been my life’s dedication.” Her lips flattened.
So, there was a story. Bishop had said Zoey had lost her true mate. Was it the job that had interfered with the mate, or had the mate interfered with the job?
Zoey flipped the blinker, about to turn in a direction that’d take them away from where the showdown with Rancor had happened, probably to another mansion-filled neighborhood full of primes.
“No.” Fyra leaned forward. “Demons are creatures of habit. He’ll go back to the same place over and over again. Like last time, he thought it’d be the last place you’d look. I’m sure you’ll find him there, or close by, or with old friends of Godet’s.”
Zoey’s skeptical gaze caught hers in the rearview mirror, then flicked over to Bishop’s. Rourke watched Zoey, and Bishop nodded.
She switched the blinker and changed course.
Fyra counted to ten to relax. She was out from under the protection of the compound and felt like tiny red targets were painted all over her. If only what she’d drunk from Bishop would mute her demon call.
What if she feasted on him every night? No, then he’d feed from her and his blood would send out the song of her people.
She wanted to growl in frustration. How could she ever be left alone?
Bishop reached over and laid his hand on top of hers.
They drove in silence until they reached Godet’s place. Huh, she’d never seen the outside, thanks to Stryke knocking her out.
What a monstrosity, but she admired its fireproof exterior. Most primes had houses made of brick, but the big bad wolf wasn’t the reason for it. They didn’t want a structure that was easy to catch fire.
Like the compound. It’d burn, but the exterior would stay smoking for a while. She recalled all the scorch marks on Bishop’s walls.
Bollocks, it’d never work for her to live there. What about when she got the compunction to carve her life’s story? Sheetrock didn’t make for good cave art.
Bishop’s fingers curled around hers, effectively cooling her heat. If he hadn’t, she would’ve set the seat on fire. Rourke probably had a fire extinguisher hidden in his pants and not in a double-entendre way.
Zoey pulled to a stop in the trees and they climbed out. Little moonlight lit the surroundings. Cloud cover was thin, lending the night an eerie feel.
All three vampires took deep breaths. Their senses were more acute than hers. A trade-off she’d take rather than her demon-homing beacon.
“I don’t sense any others here,” Rourke reported. “No brimstone.”
“None of my kind,” Fyra said.
“We go in,” Zoey said, “find what we can.”
Bishop cupped her elbow and flashed her to the entrance with the others. The ride was so quick. A girl could get used to that. She’d have to test Stryke’s energy hoodoo and see if she could ride the energy wave.
They swept through the house. Fyra stayed away from the room she’d been held in. Avoidance was the best medicine.
Bishop stuck to her, unwilling to let her be on her own after such a crappy experience in the house. A sweet gesture but unnecessary; otherwise, he’d have to shadow her all over the underworld.
She was looking through the desk in the room Bishop had originally broken into when she stiffened. Bishop sensed the sudden change from across the room, where he was sifting through books on the shelves.
“They’re here,” she announced.
His nostrils flared as his attention was directed out the door.
Demons were pinging her internal detector left and right. She hadn’t been worried before, but Rancor must’ve recruited some serious numbers.
A body busted through the partially broken window. Fyra reacted before she could think and threw her hands up.
A blast of light hit the possessed human and he screamed. She winced at the shriek but backed up as the chasm opened to suck the second-tier back home. Bonus, it sucked in the flames with it before her fire could engulf the room.
Bishop was at her back as two more humans rushed the office. He fired off two shots from his gun. She spun in time to see the weapon go flying and hit the wall, releasing another discharge.
The telekinetic twins. Fyra suppressed her fireballs, lest they be redirected back to her face.
Bishop went for one of his knives, but she laid a hand on his arm.
“They’ll make you use them against yourself—or me.”
Understanding dawned a second before he covered her and shoved them both out of the way.
An office chair careened over their heads. Bishop roared and charged the closest. The demons might be able to challenge Bishop, but the weak human bodies they inhabited were toast.
Fyra lunged to take on the second. He was ready for her. A flick of his hand and she was flung against the wall. The breath was knocked out of her and she thudded onto the floor.
Hellfire. A chair was one thing, but to be able to throw them around…
Bishop picked his human up to pile-drive him into the second demon, but they both were flung back.
Their bodies clattered over the desk and disappeared behind it.
The one Fyra had tried to tackle bared his nonexistent fangs at her.
“Sorry to break it to you,” she said, “but you look like you’re trying to smile while constipated when you do that.”
The snarl faltered and rage filled his black eyes.
There was a sickening thunk and she sucked in a breath. Silver glinted off the hilt of the knife that had been sunk into the human’s chest.
His mouth froze open and he stared down at it with morbid fascination. Flicking his fingers, he moaned in pain. The knife slid out and clattered to the floor, the human’s body following.
She swiveled her gaze to where Bishop was up on a knee, his hand still outstretched from the knife throw. He rose fully behind the desk and bent to snatch up the body of the human he’d taken down.
When the gaping black vacuum to her realm opened, he crossed the office and chucked the body inside.
Suddenly quiet in the room, she was able to hear the conflict raging in the rest of the manor.
She was up before Bishop could hold his hand out for her, and they raced toward the melee.