The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(30)
“Christan refused, and Kace flashed into an eagle, offering to take Six. But Six wanted to remind Christan why we never refuse, and after twenty minutes of what I will not describe to you, Christan relented. He turned into a gold dragon, all shimmery with horns down his spine, and Six jumped on because he thought he’d won. When he realized what he had to sit on, Christan was already in the air, swooping and jiving with Six’s eyes all buggy. When Christan finally dumped him in the middle of all that blood and gore, the immortal was so overloaded with the sensory experience he forgot about his threat to strip the flesh from Christan’s back.”
The violence in their world was staggering. “Six could do something like that?”
Cedar turned to jade. “Oh yes, he could. And did so a week later.” Then the soft, caring cedar green was back, warming with a hint of cinnamon. “Every time you see a dragon parade, with men dancing around in the gold dragon suit, you can thank Christan for giving them the inspiration.”
“No way,” Marge whispered.
“Yes, way,” Robbie said, “although Christan denies it ever happened.”
“Then how do you know?” Skeptical, Lexi narrowed her eyes, aware that she didn’t like this version of the man who alarmed her with such pure, lethal focus. “Were you there?”
“Eye witness.” Robbie tapped his chest.
“Can any warrior change like that?”
“No one can do it like Christan, although Arsen tried in the Middle Ages. He flew through the market, got tangled in the skeins of drying wool, and was chased out of town. Not by knights—it was a pitchfork-wielding crowd of women and children. I believe a few tomatoes were involved. Only the bravest still tease him about it now.”
Lexi fell silent, thinking of unrelenting power until a sudden vibration rolled beneath the floor. It was the earth energy, warning her. The warning came too late. A window shattered. Something hard clattered across the floor. Blinding white light. The concussion knocked her from the chair, and Lexi screamed into the expanding silence.
CHAPTER 12
Explosions were odd, Lexi thought, odd like the dreams. Not quite real until the silence crashed in upon itself. She pushed to her knees and spit plaster dust from her mouth. The smell in the air was acrid with the stink of burnt oil. Smoke swirled like shredding cotton. Whatever the explosion was, the purpose was concussion and not incineration; there was no fire.
Lexi heard Marge calling to Robbie, saw him crawling in the woman’s direction. A large feral cat was streaking through an open door that hung on shattered hinges. The animal was alarming, and Lexi remembered how Arsen had shifted into a tabby cat. She wasn’t sure if this was an enemy or not. She pushed to her feet, picked up a black fireplace tool. Held it defensively while the air vibrated in heated, choking waves.
The yellow cat screeched to a halt. The animal’s lips pulled back, sharp fangs clear as it crouched. Marge remained on the floor. The pressure in the room increased. The cat lunged. Lexi swung the heavy tool in her hands—until it slammed violently to a halt.
Christan was gripping the iron poker, prying her fingers up one by one.
The cat had disappeared.
“It was going toward Marge,” Lexi said, her muscles still cramped with pain. From the look in Christan’s eyes, she needed to defend her actions.
“It was a damn feral cat,” he ground out. “Do you think you scared him?”
“It ran away, didn’t it?”
“And you’d know all about running.”
Christan’s voice was rough with aggression, his face sinfully beautiful. Every muscle in his body was hard, impressive and too damn overpowering as he tossed the iron poker aside. Lexi didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t avoid the thinking, not with the heat that rolled her way. His eyes were cold and yet they burned. Scorched. His anger erupted from deep in the past and she didn’t care if they were fighting about the cat or something else, she just wanted to provoke him. Push him. Get him to move as far away from her as possible.
“Screw you, Christan,” she said. “You think you can just walk in here and start assuming things because of some damn past life? Do not ever assume things about me.”
It took a beat. And then heat exploded and he reached down, his hand fisting in the material of her yellow shirt. He dragged her toward him with heavy strength, impulsive, and the memory hit her like a body blow. There was no touch like his touch. His words were seared into her mind and oh, god, the images were there, the firelight on bronzed male skin, the way his hands had stroked, his mouth, hot and aggressive, needing, wanting. He’d held her on the edge, trembling while she waited for him to pull her back. Even now, with his hand fisted into her shirt, he held her. Then his fingers unclenched.
“I know you, and I do not assume.” His mouth curved. It was not a smile, and that single act of rejection filled her with such devastation, she picked up a piece of broken plaster and threw it in his direction.
Christan twisted and looked at her with cold amusement—the insane harpy with hair wild and streaming. Lexi saw the image of herself mirrored in his eyes and he was so damn, just so damn arrogant. He’d always been like that, accusing her of things and never listening to the vital answers she’d been trying to give. His bladed face was so starkly male it was perfection, carved by a master’s hand until even the stone began to weep. The mystery of him had always ruined her, kept her tongue-tied and helpless and furious. She reached for something else to throw.