So she remained silent. He pursed his lips as if considering his next move. "Get out of bed," he said softly.
"No way."
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a pistol. A big one.
Lily's heart pounded against her ribcage and sweat broke out on her palms.
He held the gun casually, so it appeared almost an extension of his arm, and he pointed it straight at her head.
"Get out of bed," he repeated.
Her eyes were glued to the little black hole at the end of the pistol, while her mind screamed at her not to move, as if the thin sheet covering her would somehow keep her safe, deflect the bullets.
Her muscles locked and heat built inside her as if she would self-combust right here in the bed.
His eyes widened. "What the fuck?"
She followed his gaze. Shit. The curtains were on fire. Tongues of orange flame licked up the dark blue velvet. "What have you done?" she asked.
"Me? Nothing. I didn't do this." His tone held disbelief, but then his stunned expression turned to something approaching awe. Their eyes clashed as the scent of smoke filled her nostrils. The flames were taking hold, and a wild, unexpected excitement gripped her.
Was she insane?
It looked that way.
"Well, do something now," she said through gritted teeth.
He leapt across the room, ripped the curtains down, rolling them in a bundle to extinguish the flames. When he turned back to her, his expression was no longer impassive. In other circumstances, Lily might have been amused at the alarm flaring in his face.
"You need to calm down," he growled.
"Calm down?" Her voice held an edge of hysteria. "No freaking way. You broke into my apartment. You're pointing a fucking great big gun at me, you set my room on fire, and you want me to calm down? Are you out of your fucking head?"
The pile of smouldering curtains burst into fire at his feet.
"Shit!" He stamped on the flames, then regarded her through narrowed eyes. She glared back.
"Okay, okay," he said. "Look-I'm putting the gun down." He lifted the pistol to show her, and then laid it gently on the table top. "There, no gun."
Some of the tension drained out of her limbs, and she took a slow, deep breath. He was right; she should calm down and concentrate. While he had put down his weapon, he was still far bigger and stronger than she was. But growing up in the foster care system hadn't taught her to be meek, nor had it taught her to fight fair.
She just had to find an advantage.
"I didn't come here to hurt you," he said.
Her gaze flashed to the gun then back to him. "Oh, yeah?"
He remained silent for a moment, no doubt considering his next move. Then he slanted her a smile, a slow lift of those sensual lips, and his eyes glowed with warmth. As though he'd turned on a switch, heat flared to life low down in her belly.
This was so not happening. "Cut the nice guy act-it's not going to wash-just tell me what you want."
He pursed his lips, and then nodded. "Show me the mark of the dragon, Lily."
She jerked back as though he'd hit her, and her hand flew to her mouth.
How could he know?
Maybe he'd seen it while he was shagging her in her dreams.
Yeah, right.
Very few people knew about the mark. She'd learned to hide it away. But it had always been there, forever branding her as different, in ways she could never understand. Now, here was a stranger who knew of its existence.
She swallowed, lowered her hand. "Who are you?"
"Show me the mark, and I'll tell you."
Slowly, she stripped back the sheet and rose to her feet, tugging the thin silk nightshirt down over her trembling legs. The cool air brushed against her, tightening her nipples, and she shivered at the sensation.
"Come here," he murmured.
She forced one foot in front of the other until she stood only inches away. Breathing in, she caught his scent, wood smoke and spice, like some long-forgotten memory. Or a goddamn dream. Her nostrils flared and heat coiled in her belly, a slow pulse throbbing between her thighs.
What the fuck?
His half-closed eyes glittered with excitement as his gaze ran like fire over the soft swell of her breasts then lingered on her right arm as though he could see beneath the flimsy material.
"Show me."
***
Malachite Smith hadn't expected to find anything to admire about the woman before him. In fact, he'd expected to despise her.
But she was beautiful.
As she stood before him, dressed in nothing but a silk slip, his body tightened, his dick hardening in his pants. He shifted uncomfortably and had to remind himself of who and what she was.
He searched her face for some trace of her father, but there was nothing. Nor of her mother. Cara had been small, with long black hair and a sweet face.
"Sweet" was not a word that came to mind when he looked at Lily Palmer. Not much short of six feet tall, slender and striking, with hair halfway down her back like a living flame and eyes the deep green of the emeralds his people loved so much.
She was also skittish.
It occurred to Mal that the gun might have been an error in judgment. But he had a job to do and he couldn't allow himself to forget whom he was dealing with. At least until he was sure she wasn't already working with the Conclave.
This was too important-his people had waited for too long. Only when this woman stood side by side with their king, Vortigen, before the portal at Taryn Carnock, would their waiting be over.
Nothing must prevent that.
Besides, Mal hadn't known she could start the fires. His gaze flickered to the charred remains of the curtains, then back to Lily. Shit, she shouldn't have been able to start the fires and his mind still reeled from the implications.
How would Vortigen take the news?
Badly, he hoped.
Her nightdress covered her arms and he could see nothing of the mark. The silk was thin and clung to her breasts. They were exquisite, small, but up-tilted, and his dick twitched again. He ignored the feeling-he couldn't afford to be distracted.
"Please," he said, waving a hand toward her right shoulder.
She nodded once. Her fingers shook as she plucked open the first button of her nightdress, then the next. She gripped the material and slowly pulled it down to bare her arm.
A surge of adrenalin shot through his body. He'd known she was the one, but still to see the proof before him …
The mark was beautiful; a black dragon twined erotically around her slender arm. Golden eyes glowed and flames burst from its nostrils. Red tongues of fire licked upward, curving over the smooth skin of her shoulder.
His whole body ached to reach out and touch her. When he could hold back no longer, he took the final step. His nostrils filled with a warm spicy scent, mingled with a hint of fear and maybe arousal. When she didn't move away, he lifted his hand and stroked her arm, his fingers gliding over skin as soft as anything he had ever felt.
At his touch, she shifted and let out a small gasp of shock, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the mark.
She moved quickly. He glanced up but already too late.
His last thought as he fell into darkness was that she was definitely her father's daughter-treachery was in her blood.
***
Lily's whole body quaked, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Get a fucking grip.
Her fingers still clutched the handle of the vase. The heavy stone had shattered against his skull. Was he dead? Swallowing her fear, she peered down.
He lay still, but his chest rose and fell and a pulse fluttered at his throat. Relieved he was alive, her wobbly legs gave way, and she collapsed onto the bed behind her. But she couldn't stay here forever.
Move.
She had no clue how long he would stay out and she needed to be gone. Quickly she pulled on panties, jeans, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her gaze locked on the gun on the bedside table and a shiver of revulsion ran through her. She picked it up between two fingers and dropped it into her bag.
But where could she go? This had been no random attack. He had known her name and from his reaction to the mark, it was obvious this man had expected to see it. Hell, he'd wanted to see it.
Who was he?
Crouching down, she studied his features. Blood matted his dark hair, and his eyes were closed. Even so, he was probably the most gorgeous guy she had ever come across. She'd always believed herself immune to the pull of male attraction, but now she couldn't resist the impulse to reach down and run her finger along the hard planes of his face. His skin was hot to the touch, and a shock ran through her. Snatching back her hand, she stood. She had to go, but she couldn't risk involving anyone she knew in this mess.
That left the cops.
She hated to involve the police. Having spent much of her youth running wild on the streets of London, she'd developed an issue with authority figures and avoided them whenever possible. Even now. But what was the alternative? She took her cell phone from her bag and dialed the emergency number.