"Why?" she said. "Goddamn it answer me."
"Because it needed doing."
He reached out towards her, hand spread, and wrenched the gun from her grip as though by invisible fingers.
Fury surged within her. Orange flames flickered before her eyes, the scent of smoke filled the air, the crackle of fire her ears.
"Lily, stop it." Through a haze, Mal took a step toward her.
But she couldn't control the anger. Everything that had happened since the stones, her whole life …
And all around her, the flames burned hotter.
Chapter 8
Mal gripped her arms. "Lily, look at me." He lifted her so she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. She was drowning in the golden depths, as he drew the fire from her. Slowly the temperature in the room returned to normal.
He released her arms and took a step back. "Damn," he muttered, and collapsed at her feet.
He lay sprawled on the floor, so still he might be dead. Lily sank to her knees besides him. "Mal?" she whispered.
No response. She touched his shoulder. The heat almost scorched her fingers, but at least he wasn't dead. Sitting back on her heels, she studied him. He had drawn the fire from her. She had balanced on the point of some sort of spontaneous combustion, the heat about to engulf her. He had cooled her down, and in his weakened state, the effort must have been too much. Whatever he had done, he had saved her life. Probably both their lives. There had been real fear in his eyes, but she had been so enraged, and the fact that she was capable of such intense emotion scared her.
He had killed her father.
How could she mourn for someone she had never known? But then, she wasn't mourning her father, the man, but the father of her dreams, the dreams that had sustained her through the lonely years of her childhood.
Mal had said it had needed doing. What the hell did that mean? Would she like the truth when she eventually discovered it?
Reaching out with trembling fingers, she stroked the mark on his left shoulder, down over his heart. "Dragons," she murmured.
She'd always been fascinated by dragons, hardly surprising when she considered the mark on her own arm. She'd collected models of dragons as a child, then later pictures, and-when she'd the money-jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, a gold and ruby bracelet that twined around her upper arm much like Mal's torc.
And now it seemed they were real.
"Jesus," she muttered. But she could no longer deny that she believed.
Mal didn't stir. She prodded him again. His skin still burned, but maybe a little cooler. It was her opportunity to get out of there, but she was reluctant to leave. Mal had saved her life. But then, she wouldn't have needed saving if he hadn't put her squarely in harm's way tonight. It was enough to make her head explode.
Her father had been a sorcerer. Mal hated sorcerers, why should he feel any different toward her? He'd saved her tonight because his people required her help. He hadn't wanted her, just her ability to open their stupid portal. He'd been prepared to hand her over to some depraved madman to get it done.
And he had killed her father.
She had to go.
Scrambling to her feet, she searched the room. He'd thrown his jacket on a chair, and she rummaged through the pockets. She pulled out a black leather wallet. Inside was over five hundred pounds in cash, and she stuffed the wallet into the back pocket of her jeans. The pistol was on the floor and she tucked that into her waistband, then picked up the car keys.
Mal lay unmoving. She went to the bed and pulled off a pillow and a blanket. As she tucked the pillow under his head, she half expected him to wake from the manhandling. Did she want him to wake?
She didn't know where she was going, what she was going to do. If she stayed with Mal, he would make all the decisions. She wouldn't have to think, just go with the flow, and if she did what she was told then maybe life wouldn't be so bad.
Yeah, right.
Something worse than death.
She couldn't seem to get the phrase out of her head.
No way. She was out of there. She'd be better off alone than handed over to some maniac. She threw the blanket over him and he still didn't move. Maybe he was seriously ill. Then she had a thought. She pulled the wallet out of her back pocket and searched through it. There were cards identifying Malachite Smith as a member of various government agencies. He couldn't be a member of them all, which presumably meant he wasn't a member of any. Finally, she found what she was hunting for, the card Detective Cole had handed him before they left Scotland Yard. She took it over to the telephone and dialed the first number. It got her through to the station, where they told her Cole was out-could anyone else help her? She broke the connection and dialed the second number. It was a cell phone, and he picked up after a couple of rings.
"Yeah, Cole here."
Lily paused. She should have thought through what she was going to say first.
"Hello?" He sounded annoyed. "Look, whoever this is it had better be good because you just woke me up."
"Detective Cole?"
"Who is this?"
"It's Lily Palmer. We met-"
"I remember." He was silent for a moment. Lily could almost hear his mind ticking. "What is it you want, Lily?"
"Have you found the men who kidnapped me?"
"Not yet, we're still working on it. Lily, are you with Mal?"
She glanced down at the unconscious man. "Sort of."
"What the hell does ‘sort of" mean? Can you put him on?"
"No."
"No. What the … ?" He obviously thought better of whatever it was he was going to say. She could hear him breathing hard. "Lily, tell me what's happened."
"Mal's collapsed. He's unconscious."
"Did you hit him over the head with anything?"
She almost smiled. "Not this time. Look, can you get over here?"
"Where are you?"
She gave him the name of the hotel and the room number.
"That's a couple of hours away, but I'll speak to the local force and get somebody to you quicker."
"I don't think Mal would want that. I don't think he'd want anyone else involved. It's why I phoned you. And if it makes it any easier to get away, we saw your suspects last night."
"Lily, what going on there?"
She shrugged even though he couldn't see it. What was she supposed to tell him, that Mal was a dragon, she was a princess, and they'd just been attacked by a bunch of sorcerers? Yeah, she could see that going down well. "Mal will no doubt tell you what he thinks you need to know when he wakes up."
"Mal will tell me? Why can't you tell me? You're not planning on going somewhere, are you? You stay there. I'll be with you soon. Just wait for me."
"I'm leaving as soon as I put the phone down. Just get here and take care of Mal. And Detective Cole?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever Mal has told you, it's not true. He doesn't work for any government agency."
"Lily, I've known him for years."
"That just means he's lied to you for years. And Detective Cole, ask Mal about dragons."
"Dragons? What the … "
Lily smiled and put the phone down. Hopefully, she'd got some payback there. With a bit of luck Cole would at least give Mal a hard time when he woke. Provided Mal was still here in a couple of hours' time. The detective was going to be pissed if he got out of his warm bed, made the long drive, and Mal was gone. She wished she'd kept the cuffs.
She took one last peek at him and left the room, pulling the door closed and flipping over the do not disturb sign. Not that anyone was likely to at three in the morning. A quick flash of guilt shot though her. What if the sorcerers found him now, alone and unconscious? But Mal had been sure they hadn't been followed, and she'd done what she could. She'd called his friend, what more did he expect?
She had to look out for herself.
Lily got in the car and drove. She wasn't sure why, but she continued heading north as they had been before the stop.
The reason came to her after a couple of hours. North to where it had all begun. She'd been thinking it had started when she'd woken and first seen Mal, but that wasn't the case. It had started three days ago at the standing stones.
It all came back to the standing stones. The portal as Mal had called them. She had to find out more, and Joe had told her he knew a man who was an expert. Some old local professor who had spent his life studying the stones. Maybe he would be able to tell her nothing of use, but at least it was a plan, a place to start, and what was the alternative? Wandering around aimlessly, until one of the bad guys eventually tripped over her.
She was free, she had money, she had a car, she had loads of weapons-most of which she hadn't a clue how to use-and she had a plan. Life was good. Well maybe not good, but at least it was marginally better than it had been for the last forty-eight hours.