Flameout (32 page)

“Yeah.” There were other reasons, of course, like the Paranormal Investigations Team—a specialist squad of humans and supernaturals who worked outside the regular police force to solve crimes that involved paranormals—wanting a full and detailed debriefing before they'd let Jackson and me go. Then there was the problem of ensuring we weren't
being followed—one we solved by me and Jackson temporarily going our separate ways. He returned to the offices of Hellfire Investigations—the PI agency we jointly owned and ran—while I followed the example of so many of our enemies of late and used the stormwater system to get out of Melbourne unseen.

“What happened in Brooklyn after I was shot?” Rory said.

“Nothing. We just ran.” Or rather, left as quickly as any of us were able, given we were little more than the walking, bleeding wounded by that time.

“And you haven't heard from either Sam or Jackson since?”

“I talked to Jackson yesterday. I'm meeting him in Seymour tonight if he can get away without being followed.” I had no idea what Sam might be doing. He hadn't exactly been communicative since I'd stepped back into his life. He might be one of PIT's top investigators, and he might be chasing the same damn things we were, but he'd generally only dealt with me when and where it was necessary

“Is that wise?” Concern edged Rory's voice.

“Probably not, but it's not as if we have any other choice. There are still too many things we need to do.”

And far too many people we'd endanger if we
did
stop or disappear. Hell, my vanishing for three days was enough of a risk. I was just hoping the vampire currently blackmailing us for any and all information on the Crimson Death virus—or red cloak virus, as it was more commonly known—would put our recent lack of action down to injury recovery.

Of course, he and everyone else also wouldn't have minded our finding the missing scientists who'd been working on a cure for the virus. Unfortunately, they'd been purposely infected, bought under the control of the red cloak hive “queen” and, right now, were who knew where working on god knew what.

What we
did
know was that the infected generally fell into two categories—those who became crazy pseudo vampires leashed by the will of the queen, and the ones who, while they also gained vampirelike abilities, kept all mental facilities even though they were still bound to the hive and its leader. No one really understood why the virus
affected some more than others, although the powers that be suspected it very much depended on which lot infected them. The scientists were apparently in the latter category—no surprise, given the hive queen had wanted them working on the cure as much as the rest of us.

Of course, there
was
a third category, involving people like Sam who, though infected, had no attachment to the hive and did not fall under the will of its leader.

Jackson was continuing to make the required nightly call to our blackmailer, and we both hoped it was enough to keep him off our backs. Like most vampires who'd reached an extreme age, he no longer had any intimacy with his emotions and saw the world in rather simple terms. That is, things he wanted, people he could use to get those things, and people who were stopping him from getting them.

We were currently sitting in that middle class with Rinaldo, the vampire in question. I did
not
want to step into the latter.

Rory grunted. I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw he was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Don't fight it; your body needs the rest.”

“You can't carry me in, and the last thing we need is you breaking your back and having us both immobile.”

I grinned. “Your ass may be heavy, but I've carried it before and I can do so again. Stop being an idiot and let your body do what it needs to.”

He didn't reply. He was already asleep. I hit the main road and headed toward the small holiday cabin I'd rented for the next week. It was a pretty but basic building, the interior little more than one large wood-clad room, which held a bed, a small kitchenette, and a sofa, with a bathroom tucked into one corner. But it was the open fire that dominated the main room that had drawn me there. Rory needed both flame
and
food to continue his rehabilitation toward full mobility, which is why I'd not only lit the fire before I'd left, but had also set up a bed right in front of it. No matter how long he slept, his body would automatically feed on the flames.

The moon was casting its silver light across the shadows by the time I pulled into the long driveway that led down to
the half dozen cabins dotted along the banks of the Goulburn River. Ours was the very last one, situated around a slight bend in the river and out of the direct line of sight of the other five.

I reversed up to the front steps then climbed out and unlocked the front door. A wave of heat hit me and I closed my eyes, briefly drawing it into my body to ease a little of the tiredness. But this heat was not mine to enjoy.

I severed the connection and returned to the car, opened the rear door, and then dragged Rory closer. He muttered something unintelligible and half sat up, making my job a little easier. I swung his arm around my shoulder then hauled him upright, being careful not to crack his head on the top of the wagon's door.

He waved his free hand about randomly and said in a rather grand tone, “Onward and upward, my dear!”

I grinned, shifted my grip to his waist, and half carried, half guided him up the steps. His breath was little more than a wheeze by the time we made it inside, and we all but staggered over to the fire. I stripped him out of his tunic then helped him down onto the mattress. I didn't bother covering him, simply because having his entire body exposed to the flames would hasten the refeeding process.

“Thanks.” His eyes briefly fluttered open. “What time are you meeting Jackson?”

I threw some more logs onto the fire then glanced at the clock on the wall. “In twenty minutes.”

He grunted. “Bring back some coffee. And fries. And a big burger. Or two.”

Amusement ran through me. “Like
that's
a surprise request.”

I generally hungered for chocolate and green tea after my rebirths, but Rory had always preferred the fattier foods—a preference that had become much easier to fulfill when fast food had come into being. Although cheese, eggs, and milk were theoretically healthier, fries and burgers seemed to fuel him faster.

“How long you planning to be away?” he mumbled.

“Not long.” Especially given he was still in such a fragile state. “But shit does happen.”

Especially since I'd saved Sam's life and subsequently
become involved in the quest to stop his brother's mad scheme to spread the red cloak virus. Luke was not only one of the few infected who'd retained his sanity, but he also happened to be the queen bee of the red cloak hive and had intended to create an army with which he could rule the world. And while we'd managed to bring Luke down in the Brooklyn madness that had taken Rory's life, I had no idea how much of his army remained or if he'd had a second-in-command who could take over. He'd certainly had a witch on his payroll—one who'd been powerful enough to not only create a spell that could contain a phoenix's fire, but to call
and
control three hellhounds. That I'd survived the encounter had been due more to luck than to determination and skill on my part.

“Shit does,” Rory said. “And hopefully, the next truckload will happen all over the bastard who ordered me killed.”

I chuckled softly and touched his arm. His skin still held an edge of coolness, which meant there was a way to go before he was up to full strength, despite appearances. “I won't be long.”

He grunted. I waited until his breathing indicated he'd slipped into a deep sleep then grabbed my coat and headed out. It didn't take me all that long to reach Seymour. Although there were plenty of good-quality restaurants in the town, Jackson and I had decided to meet at McDonald's, not only because it was easier, but because I'd have to stop by there anyway to grab Rory's food.

Once I parked, I climbed out and looked around. There weren't many cars in the lot; most customers were content to simply use the drive-through, if the long line was anything to go by. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to me, but that didn't necessary mean there wasn't anyone out there watching my movements. Which wasn't so much paranoia as past experience, given the number of people who'd been following us lately.

I couldn't see Jackson anywhere, so I headed inside. Aside from the couple eating burgers at one of the corner tables, the only other people here were the staff.

My phone—an untraceable one we'd gotten from a friend of Rory's who was heavily involved in the black
market trade—beeped as I ordered a green tea, several burgers, and a bag of fries. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen.

Be there in a few minutes,
the message said.
Order me an espresso. A large one.

Though there was no name on the text, it could only have come from Jackson as, aside from Rory, no one else had this number. Jackson's phone had come from PIT, though, and though they claimed it was also untraceable, they'd meant to everyone but themselves, of course.

And that was something of a problem. I trusted Sam, and I trusted his boss—the rather formidable Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond—but that was about it. I was pretty sure PIT had at least one mole in their organization, and it didn't matter whether that person belonged to the sindicati—which was the vampire version of the mafia—or was one of Rinaldo's men. The last thing I needed was either of them getting our current location or our new phone numbers. Not when Rory was in such a weak state, anyway.

I ordered Jackson's coffee then moved across to a table that overlooked the parking lot. I demolished the burgers in record time, needing to fuel my flesh as much as I'd need to refuel my spirit with flame sometime in the next twenty-four hours. As I started on the fries, an old van drove into the parking area and stopped on the opposite side of the lot to my car. Jackson—of that I had no doubt. A few seconds later, he climbed out of the van, a lean, auburn-haired man who oozed heat and sexuality. Even from this distance, separated as we were by glass, I could feel it, a teasing but fiery river that ran delightfully across my senses, and it was something I'd never felt before. Not like this, anyway. Which maybe meant it was yet another side effect of allowing him to draw in my flames—to merge his spirit with mine—in an effort to burn the red cloak virus from his system. And we weren't even sure if we'd achieved
that
.

PIT had recently taken blood samples, but it could be days—even weeks—before we would know the test results. I seriously doubted it be the latter, though, given the fact that, to date, there was no known cure for the red cloak
virus. If my flames
had
burned it from Jackson's system, then it meant the virus was at least susceptible to heat.

Not that it'd help humanity all that much. There were few races capable of withstanding the high temperatures Jackson had.

I watched him walk toward the main door. If there was one thing literature and movies had gotten wrong when it came to the fae, it was their stature. They were neither small nor winged, and the only ones who were ethereal in
any
way were the air fae.

He made his way through the tables with a lightness and grace that belied said stature, his grin easy and delighted, creasing the corners of his emerald eyes.

“Ah, Emberly.” His voice was little more than a murmur, but was one that echoed deep within me. Another side effect of our merging was the ability to hear each other's thoughts. Not all the time and certainly not without some effort, but it was still there. And still developing, if that echo was any indication. “You have no idea how much I've missed you.”

“Let's be honest here.” The amusement that ran through me bubbled over into my voice. “You're an oversexed fire fae who hasn't had much of the intimate stuff as of late. You missed my body more than me.”

“You wound me to the core with such a comment.” He rather dramatically slapped a hand against his chest, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the laughter dancing in his eyes.

I rose. “Yeah, I can see the tears.”

“They are raining inside, trust me.” He caught my hand and tugged me closer. “Life in the office has been seriously boring these last three days without you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Not only was he delightfully muscular but deliciously warm. Fire fae tended to run hotter than most humanoids, and although their core temperature was nowhere near as high as ours, they did make very compatible lovers.

But Jackson was also a perfect lover in one other respect; fire fae didn't do commitment, and Jackson was never
going to want anything more than a good time from me—which was just as well, given Sam was this lifetime's heartbreaker.

“You spent years in that office flying solo,” I said, voice dry. “I've only been there a few weeks.”

“But in those few weeks, I have become so accustomed to your presence, I cannot imagine life without it.” His face grew suddenly serious. “And now, if you don't mind, I desperately need to do something that I've been dreaming about for these last few days.”

And with that, he kissed me.

It was a long, slow, and extremely sensual exploration, and one that had my pulse racing and inner fires flaring. I controlled the latter, but only just—and
that
was instant cause for alarm. Because I was a phoenix, control was something I'd learned from a very young age. That it threatened to break my restraints here—with this man—was something that hadn't happened in the past and certainly shouldn't be happening now.