Furious Fire: Grimm's Circle, Book 8 Read online

  It had taken time to perfect them, and years more to learn control, but the foundation had already been there and now, that ability served him well as he slid into the shadows. He heard a car, gliding through the streets and he eyed the roof above him. With a cursory glance around, he crouched and then lunged upward.

  Once he was there, he settled in the shadows and watched the car he’d heard roll to a stop. It was sleek, black and worth a mint. He tried to make out the model as it nosed into the narrow space available just across the street. He failed, though. Give him a firearm and he could name the manufacturer, the year, and when it had started being used.

  Cars were another matter.

  The car had stopped in front of the building where the local law enforcement was located. Finn didn’t know what they called themselves. Sheriff, deputies, cop, bobbies…he barely kept up with the names as they changed from country to country, decade to decade.

  But he recognized the thing that climbed from the car, pretending to be mortal.

  He had one Colt in hand before the person even had a foot on the ground.

  Demon… It was a whisper in his ear.

  Yeah, I got that memo.

  It—or the woman it pretended to be—was tall and sleek, her long black hair twisted in a coil around her head, almost like a crown. She glanced around, the look seemingly casual. There was nothing casual about her—there hadn’t been in a long, long time. Everything an orin did had purpose.

  And the fact that one of the higher-level demons was here, now, had Finn’s gut going cold.

  He touched the medallion at his neck for the second time in under two hours. This time, he didn’t just send out what he considered his hey, call me back sort of thought. It was more along the lines we need to talk…yesterday.

  “I have a feeling things are worse than you think, old man. A lot worse.”

  Finn stiffened as he felt that weight in his head. It took only moments for the response.

  He was all too familiar with having Will barge his way inside his thoughts to not recognize it. So yeah, he knew it was what it was, all right. Knew it and despised it.

  But it wasn’t anything that would harm him.

  As Will settled within Finn’s mind, he fought the instinctive urge to back away, to try and force the older Grimm out, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’d learned that the hard way, more than once.

  Will didn’t waste time with questions like “what is going on?”

  He would have already picked up on that during his time loitering in the back of Finn’s brain as he made the connection.

  No, he went right for the big salvo. “Just why do you think this is what’s going on?”

  “I don’t. Not really. But it’s one thing that makes sense. The only bodies—or survivors—ever recovered are children and there are reasons why orin wouldn’t try for kids. They’re too weak to survive that kind of invasion. Too many bodies are disappearing for it to be vankyr. They don’t need that much flesh and even if they did, they’d leave a mess behind that sooner or later we’d have to clean up. I remember—Canada. You have to remember Canada.”

  Finn felt the pressure in his mind darken, then twist. Ohhhh, yeah…Will remembered Canada.

  “There’s never been any sign such a thing has happened,” Will responded after a long, taut moment.

  Finn sighed. He wanted a drink. “Just because it hasn’t happened before does that mean it can’t happen now?”

  So much time passed before Will answered that Finn thought maybe he just wouldn’t.

  And then, in a single, grim statement, Will said the last thing Finn had wanted to hear. “No.”

  “Shit.” Finn dragged a hand through his shaggy hair and continued to eye the car in front of him. The thing that made the most sense, in his head, was to follow her when she left and see what he could learn. He stayed where he was, wishing he could see through the walls of the simple building. He could hear voices, but as he hadn’t heard her speak, he didn’t know which voice was hers, couldn’t pick it out from the other voices coming from all around.

  “What do I do, boss?” He spoke the words aloud but it made no difference. Will would hear him.

  A disgruntled sound escaped Will.

  “For now, stay alive. I have…something to attend to and then I’ll be there. Don’t cause too much trouble between now and then.”

  “Now, would I do that?” he murmured to himself.

  “She’s dying anyway, mate. Doesn’t matter if she dies alone or not. We’ve got demons to run down. Let’s go.”

  Demons…

  Sitting in the corner, knees drawn to my chest, I fought the shudders that tried to wrack me from head to toe. Tried to ignore the phantom pain in my gut.

  I could remember that pain now.

  This was the worst, remembering each way I’d died.

  But at the same time, I could remember him…how he’d looked at me.

  The first time had been the hardest, the most brutal.

  And now, terrifying clarity, I realized there was something more. Something beyond that memory that I wouldn’t let myself examine.

  It was enough for now. Wasn’t it enough for now?

  She’s dying, mate.

  Those words, harshly, almost carelessly spoken, tugged at something hidden so deep inside, I suspected that when I did unearth it, it would be like tearing the very heart out of me.

  She is dying…I cannot save her…

  An icy bead of sweat trickled down my back. That voice…

  It had been Tommy. And the other one—graying, grizzled, and angry, full of such hate, it had hurt to look at him.

  “Go on then, Ira,” had been Finn’s snarled reply. “I’m not leaving a girl to die alone in the middle of all of this.”

  “You’re not here to hold a mortal’s hand, you stupid fool! You’re not a nursemaid.”

  A hand brushing my brow…I stared into warm, golden eyes. I knew them. I fought to breathe around the massive, awful pain. Those eyes. I knew them. When I closed my own and let myself forget about the pain and where I was, who I was, I almost even knew why I knew him… Lifting a hand, I looked up just in time to touch his cheek. But then he was gone, jerked away and pain shattered me.

  “It’s time to go,” a voice snarled.

  I heard it, over the pain, even as darkness spin in on me.

  “Touch me again, and you’ll suffer for it.”

  I shivered, chilled.

  I felt heat now. Heat that couldn’t penetrate the cold and arms that came around me. “Come, darling girl. You can rest now. It won’t be long. Just listen to my voice, sweetheart…”

  Sweetheart…

  “Don’t…” I tried to lick my lips. My mouth was so dry. Forcing my eyes open, I stared at him. Then I sighed, forgetting what I’d been about to say. He was here. He’d found me. Nothing else mattered. He brushed at my cheek.

  That was nice.

  That was…

  I tore myself out of the memory with a ragged gasp.

  Too much.

  The pain of it was too much and I reached up, swiping at the tears with hands that shook.

  Don’t call me sweetheart. That was what I’d been about to tell him.

  Even the thought of it was enough to make me shudder. I don’t know why. The cutesy name might cause a kneejerk reaction in me, but it was typically just one of minor irritation.

  But from him—

  A ripple of energy cut through my thoughts and I jerked my head, found myself eyeing the man in front of me. Swallowing, I clambered to my feet and meet his gaze.

  Angling my chin up, I met his silver eyes. “You never gave me your name. You barge into my mind, you kidnap me, you’re standing there debating on killing me. The least you can do is give me your name.”

  He cocked hi
s head, the pale, silvery cloak of his hair falling over one shoulder. He eyed me in a way that made me want to squirm. Like he was still trying to puzzle me out. I didn’t want him puzzling me out. I felt insignificant next to him, a bug he could squash in a heartbeat. I wish I hadn’t even come to his attention.

  “You’re only partially right,” he said after a few heartbeats. “I’m no longer debating on killing you.”

  I tensed. Did that mean—?

  “I decided it’s not in my best interest.” He inclined his head. “I hope you realize that it’s not in yours to share anything that has happened since I found you in that alley—nor to speak anything of what you know of demons and the like.”

  “Gee.” I couldn’t resist. Curling my lip in a sneer, I planted my hands on my hips. “There goes my evening plans…I was going to call the first reporter I could find and see if they wanted an inside exclusive on life with a demon hunter.”

  He just lifted a brow and then gestured to the door. “You may go.”

  Go?

  Narrowing my eyes, I started for that door, half waiting for the trick.

  Once there, I stopped, hand on the doorknob. “You never did give me your name.”

  He stood in the middle of the floor, a hand lifted, palm outstretched. His expression was bored. “It’s Will.”

  “Am I going to see you again? I’d like to know so I can stock up on rocket launchers and the like.”

  A grim smile settled on his face. “Trust me. They won’t do you any good.”

  A brilliant white light flared.

  Will…

  Instinct drove me.

  I flung myself at his back the second he turned away. He spun toward me but maybe it was the sheer suddenness of the movement. I don’t know. I caught him off guard, though. And we started to fall. Falling…

  Only we never hit the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  Will cursed soundly as she caught him rough and hard.

  Kalpyso landed on top of him and he barely managed to wrap his power around her to cushion the blow. Every inch of him ached—note to self…uncontrolled gate travel just might do you a lot of damage. His innards felt as though they’d been smashed. The journey through the gate had been turbulent and though he could have smoothed it out, he’d focused his attention on protecting the mortal—the fragile one, the one who just might die for that foolish, mystifying act.

  Her heart beat steadily and her breaths were regular. Her nerves were screaming, though and pain twisted through her.

  “Stupid mortal,” he muttered, wincing as he rolled to his feet, easing her limp body to the side.

  Blood dripped from him and he reached up, touched the back of his hand to his nose.

  “I’m bleeding,” he murmured, bemused.

  “Has it been so long since you’ve done that you forgot what it was like?”

  At the sound of Finn’s voice, he forced himself to think. Eyeing Kalypso, he saw that under the smooth, tawny gold of her skin, she’d lost color. The thick coil of her hair half-obscured her face and he did nothing to brush it aside. If she didn’t move, if she stayed unconscious—

  Bollocks.

  Keeping the two of them apart until the bitter end hadn’t solved anything. He laid a hand on her arm, focused.

  The last time he’d tried to pierce the veil that surrounded her future, he’d only seen the darkness of death. Anything that lay beyond that was lost to him.

  Now, though, it was a shiftless, formless mass, an inscrutable gray and he’d have to accept that as answer enough.

  Rising, he met Finn’s eyes. Pain splintered through him and he made his way over to the short, squat chimney, using it to brace himself against while his limbs protested the very idea of moving.

  He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d felt…weak. Wounded.

  A long time.

  A very long time.

  Finn was still watching him, puzzled.

  “I gotta tell you, man,” Finn finally said. “That wasn’t quite the entry I’ve come to expect from you. You’re also early. Whatever happened to the business you had to settle?”

  “It rather tackled me on my way out.” Will gave Kalypso a grim look. “Or perhaps, to be more accurate, I should say she rather tackled me on my way out.”

  “Aw, sweetheart…don’t be mad…”

  She was mad at him.

  Thom’s breath was a warm puff on her neck and he smelled of whiskey and she could also catch reek of another woman’s perfume on him. He’d been down the river, at that so-called “establishment” Becky wasn’t supposed to know about. There so long, he’d forgotten they were supposed to meet and she’d given up waiting on him and come home.

  But then he’d shown up outside her window, after she’d gone to bed.

  She didn’t know who was more foolish—her for coming to the window, or him for sneaking inside.

  If her father caught him, Thom might be lucky to escape with his hide intact.

  Of course, just then, as she smelled another woman on him, Becky was feeling rather violent herself.

  Shoving against his chest, she said in a low voice, “Don’t call me sweetheart, Thom. I imagine you called quite a lot of women sweetheart tonight. I won’t be one of them. Go home. You’re drunk.”

  “Drunk…?” He snickered a little and leaned back against the windowsill, long legs splayed out in front of him.

  Silvery moonlight shone in around him, framing him there. The light picked up the red in his hair, played with the shadows and hollows of his face—such a pretty man, but in a wholly masculine way—and it was likely shameful that she even noticed. Heat swam through her, making her heart race, the way it always did around him these days. A leather belt rode low on his hips and in her mind’s eye, she could see the way he walked, the slow, lazy motion of his body—almost dance-like in its elegance. His beauty was a deadly one. That leather belt carried the weight of pistols he never went without and she could recall, with crystalline clarity, how they’d stood in a field miles from here several months ago the day he’d taught her how to use the pistols he carried.

  That was when it had started to change.

  She could still feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he helped her position her body, the weapon. The heat of his chest against her back. Then that slow curl of his lips near the end of the afternoon when she’d hit the target not once, but three times.

  “That’s my girl,” he’d said.

  Yes, she was. But she didn’t tell him. Not then, and she could hardly tell him now, either. Even if she had considered telling him earlier.

  A whorehouse. Mama and Father would be appalled if they realized she knew what such a place was, but she knew where he’d been. He’d gone to a whorehouse, forgetting he’d agreed to meet her for a walk along the river.

  Perhaps she should stop hoping he’d notice and just accept Sawyer’s attentions. He clearly had noticed she wasn’t still in the schoolroom.

  Thom gave her a boyish smile. “I’m might have had a little too much to drink.” He pushed up off the window, came toward her. “I only did it so I could sleep.”

  She sniffed and turned away. “I’m sorry to hear you have trouble resting these days. Next time we make plans to go riding, we shall have to do it earlier in the day so it doesn’t interfere with your nightly indulgences.”

  “You’re mad.”

  The soft, sad sound of his voice left her with an ache in her heart. She cast a look at the door.

  If she were wise, she’d go to that door, leave him alone in here until he came to his senses.

  It wasn’t likely he’d be discovered in her room and if he was…

  Her heart skipped at the thought.

  If he was, her father would drag him down the aisle.

  She licked her lips but
before she let the thought complete itself, she shook her head.

  No. She wanted him to want her too.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She went to brush it aside but he turned her to face him before she could and his smoldering gaze caught hers. “Becky…” he muttered. His eyes dipped to her mouth for the briefest second, then rose.

  A gasp caught in her chest, hitched there, and held.

  A groan rumbled out of him. “I can’t sleep because of you.”

  She jerked back, but his hands caught her hips, hard and strong through the thin material of her nightdress. It was hardly a barrier at all and she could feel those long-fingered, elegant hands like brands on her hips as he tugged her closer.

  “I can’t sleep,” he murmured again. “Just needed one night of sleep…”

  He pressed his mouth to her neck and she gasped, instinctively reaching up and curling her hands into his shirt. She turned her face toward him, nerves singing a wicked tune inside her. He opened his mouth and she sucked in a breath—

  Becky tore away from him, shaking and ready to kick herself.

  “You smell of whiskey and women. You took yourself off to a whorehouse and now you decide to kiss me,” she said, her voice shaking in fury, in hurt. “Is that what you think of me?”

  She pointed her finger toward the window. “Get out of here, Thomas Finn. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  “Becky…”

  “Out!”

  He caught her wrist. She lifted her other hand and slapped him. His head whipped around at the force of the blow. When he looked back at her, his eyes glittering, he gave a short nod. “I deserved that. I had no right kissing you. I’m sorry. I…” He swallowed and looked around. “Becky, I’m sorry for that. It won’t happen…”

  She jerked back, ready to strike him again.

  “You stupid, stupid man.” Unable to stand there and look at him and listen to this, she grabbed a wrap from the foot of the bed and clambered through the still open window. How often had she done this as a child? She couldn’t recall. More than once. More than a dozen times. And always, to meet the man who even now was rushing to catch up with her along the trail.

  “Becky, you need to get inside. You can’t be out here alone at night.”